


Phone Home

by Kooriicolada (WHM_Koorii)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHM_Koorii/pseuds/Kooriicolada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe has been rebooted and now fate charts a new course.  Karkat Vantas is revealed for the mutant blood he is, and in his escape winds up stranded on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forever's Gonna Start

**Author's Note:**

> Begun as a reply to this prompt on the Kinkmeme:
> 
> _I would like a fic based around this fanmix:_  
>  http://8tracks.com/schellibie/shut-up-and-listen-to-this
> 
> _That is all._
> 
> The attempt was to match each section of a plotty fic with it's track. 13 tracks, 13 parts, a single fic. I've probably failed, but there it is.

It's the first (only) time they meet face to face, and it's in a fucking dream bubble. Because they're dead and gone, every last one of them. Karkat died with a sword to the chest, something he wasn't too surprised by. And John? Well, whatever killed him was obviously epic, heroic, _leaderly_. Everything Karkat wanted to be and more. Karkat wants to hate him for it more than he's wanted anything lately, but all he can do is stare at John.

John is the same height he is, has a similar slouch to his posture, and regards him from behind ash and blood spattered lenses. He's smiling too.

Karkat doesn't even bother to hold back and punches him square in the face. His glasses break at the bridge and John lets out a pathetic sounding _oof_.

John looks up at him through his singed bangs, and gives Karkat a lopsided smile as he holds his glasses in place with one hand. For a moment Karkat considers punching him again, but he doesn't have the energy and there isn't any time.

“Egbert,” he says, through teeth clenched so hard he’s afraid he’ll break them. The bubble they're in is full of happy bright colors. Karkat suspects it's all about John Egbert. Isn't it just always?

“Hey Karkat,” John says. “I guess this is goodbye, huh?”

Whatever the fuck it is the humans did—it's always the humans, the insufferable fuck ups—in their session it's effecting them too. Whatever John caused, whatever he and his pukingly pink pals managed it’s starting to take effect. Everything's going black around the edges, and the bright colors are melting off like running paint.

John turns away from Karkat, and it’s then that all the hate and rage comes back. When Karkat tries to fly at him—to beat the snot out of him—he hits something like an invisible wall. John's just walking away, and maybe it really is goodbye then. Fine by him.

But then John stops for a second, half turns back with one hand still holding his glasses. His matted, sweaty hair clings to his temples, and a thin line of blood seeps from one nostril. John lifts his free hand and waves.

Something a little like burning settles in Karkat's vascular system and sends bile back up his protein chute. It's the most disgusting thing he's ever felt and loves every second of it.

Then he doesn't do anything as everything is unmade and remade and fate charts a new course. One untouched by a game and a meddlesome Guardian.

Karkat wakes up in his hive, in his respiteblock, and inside his recuperacoon and feels as if he has forgotten something very important. Something so important he feels angrier than usual. His skin feels too tight and hot even under the cool sopor slime. It feels as if he’s forgotten his entire life, and everyone important in it, but that’s stupid. He’s stupid. What a grubfucking moron.

Karkat pulls himself from his recuperacoon and begins another night. Another night hiding his blood, another night trolling with some of the stupidest fuckers in the vastness of the universe. From then on it continues to feel like something has gone missing, and while it fades and is forgotten itself it never quite goes away.


	2. I Hate The World Today

Karkat Vantas was going to die, and it was all that crazy bitch’s fault. Here he was, three fucking days from getting into the Threshecutioners—he had even received his flaysquad designation already!—and now this. Three fucking days, and everything went sideways and backways and every which ways. It was going so many goddamned ways that Karkat was starting to get dizzy. In fact he was so fucking dizzy he might as well have been riding a goddamned whirling machine made exactly for confusing stupid mutant blooded trolls who’d been sold out to the highbloods and their need to cull shit.

Fuck Pyrope anyway. If Karkat got half the chance he was going to puke and bleed all over her stupid candy red shoes. She’d like that, the sick freak. It was all her fault anyway, damn her. All he’d done is turn her down one too many times. It was hardly his fucking fault he didn’t want the whole world to know about his blood _for exactly this reason_.

It had been terrifying enough trying to figure out what to do the first time the imperial drones had come calling. Surprise! You’re now an adult troll and get your first taste of society before you’re chucked off planet. See, we don’t want weak fools on the front line, and, hey, if you manage to make it through the drones and their pails and you die out there, well, at least you had a shot at making the next batch of cannon fodder!

He’d kind of hoped at least Ampora would have ended up on the wrong end of a culling fork during that mess of a trial.

Karkat had been certain _he_ was going to.

Lucky for him, Sollux had been feeling sympathetic and considering his Matesprit was the lowest of the low herself...Aradia hadn’t minded at least. Nepeta might have been willing too, but like fuck was Karkat enough of an asshole to lead her on even if she was still harboring that flushcrush on him. He’d refused to chance getting turned into a bloody pulp by her freakish moirail anyway. In the end all he had to do was masquerade as Sollux’ Kismesis and that was easy enough. Sometimes he really did hate the nooksniffer enough to actually consider it.

(At least his progeny had a low ass chance of ever swimming up out of the slurry. He probably deserved a goddamned thank you card for making sure they’d never been born. It was a moot point since they’d never be able to _send him one_. Ungrateful nonexistent bastards.)

It was a workable solution and that was all Karkat had needed then and now. No one ever had to know about his blood.

Shame that Pyrope had _figured it out somehow_.

He _still_ has no idea how she managed it, and he didn’t care. All that matters is that when he’d said no to her the last time she’d asked Pyrope had grinned at him, all teeth, and said, “ _Well then, I’ll just have to turn you in for your delicious candy red blood, Karkat. It’s nothing personal, just justice._ ” And then she’d patted his cheek and walked off, hips swaying.

Karkat had been stupid enough to call her bluff. In reflection, Karkat supposes that he should have taken her up on her offer but he just couldn’t trust her. Not with that on and off rivalry she has with Serket. Too late now anyway. You just didn’t cross one of the biggest bitches around without consequences and he was fucking stupid enough to throw himself into the fire.

So now here he is, running for his forsaken shithole of a life and wondering why he didn’t just stop, lay down and die. The life of an fugitive always ended in death anyway, but Karkat never has been good at common sense. It was all rage all the time and fuck anyone who got in his way.

Besides, if he gets his way about it he’s going to put Pyrope out of his misery first. He just has to _find_ her.

But that’s enough thinking for now. The sun’s stopped being a blistering, festering ball of refuse in the sky, and Karkat crawls out of the dank, fungus encrusted _nook_ he’s been sheltering in all day long. He brushes clinging debris off his armor and checks his weapons. Karkat knows that he needs to be as prepared as possible or he’s just going to die that much faster.

The forest around Pyrope’s home—because they haven’t been kicked off the planet just yet, not for three more days—is dark and full of sounds that make Karkat twitch. He hasn’t slept in over a week, just waiting and waiting and wondering if she was really going to go through with it. When she did he wasn’t surprised. Still isn’t. He’s a paranoid bastard after all these years, and the betrayals are mounting. It’s only been a matter of time as far as he’s concerned.

Grimly, teeth bared aggressively, Karkat stalks between the thick trunks of massive trees. A colorful array of scalemates sway in the night breeze from tiny nooses, and Karkat can’t help but feel like he’s going to be joining them any time. Ahead of him the tree cover gives way to a clearing at the center of which is an even bigger tree. It’s in this tree that Pyrope has made her hive.

Karkat stares up at the hive, all lined with windows shining in the double glow of Alternia’s moons. She’s sitting there on one of the branches, a decapitated scalemate in one hand and a red and white cane in the other. Karkat can see her vicious white grin and the flash of her candy red glasses even from this distance. It’s as if she’s been waiting for him this entire time. She probably has been.

“How predictable, Karkat!” she calls down. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?” She twists her cane in her hands and Karkat can see the glint of a blade as it pulls apart. “Or maybe I can show them the truth of your guilt!”

Therein lies the possibility that he could get away if he just gave in to her demands, but Karkat refuses to play these games with anyone. He’s worked too hard, and maybe it’s stupid but he’s always known he was a fuck up.

“Shut the fuck up, Pyrope!” he snarls. “No one wants to hear the retarded shit that’s coming out of the gaping hole in your face!” In a single practiced move, Karkat frees up his weapons of choice: double sickles. It’s a step up from the single sickle of his youth, but he’s needed all the advantages he could get over the years. When you’re a bit undersized compared to your brethren, and have a dangerous secret to protect then you protected it. It’s all about being loud, and dangerous, and keeping the rest of the world at bay.

With a sharp click, she slides the edges of her cane back together. “So be it!” Pyrope declares cheerily. For a moment, Karkat can’t help but think that, maybe, in another time, another place they could have been something. Maybe if she wasn’t so hung up on justice, or had broken things off with Serket—crazy ass spiderbitch ruins everything she touches anyway—then maybe they wouldn’t be trying to kill each other now. Or maybe if he was just less of a fuck up. That’s always a definite possibility. God he hates himself.

The thought is so clear to him that he can almost see it. A battle against hulking monsters where they’ve got each other’s backs, and Pyrope knows his secret and doesn’t betray him to the cold, murderous world.

Then it’s gone, and it’s Karkat and Pyrope She’s sitting up there, laughing and laughing and laughing. The sound echoes around them like ripples.

Karkat charges and she jumps down to meet him, sliding down the rope of her lift with practiced ease. When she attacks, he ducks, sickles slicing and swirling around him like a maelstrom. If there’s something Karkat has learned to be good at, it’s using all that rage and fury that always flows through him. He turns to that now, an inexhaustible supply of it, and unleashes it on his enemy. Pyrope weaves away from his attacks, her cane flicking through the air and knocking aside his weapons. The entire time she just keeps on laughing, teeth showing starkly against the black of her lips. Karkat bares his own teeth and tries to kick her in the face.

She catches the attack with her cane, but Karkat thinks the thick sole of his boot makes a jarring first impression. For a moment Karkat wonders if this is when he should say a witty line, and maybe it’ll turn into a hilarious clusterfuck of a movie one day. They can call it: The Movie In Which A Really Stupid Mutant Blooded Troll’s Mysterious Blood Color Is Revealed By His Aspiring Matesprit Who He Turned Down Due to Intense Paranoia And Trust Issues Who In Turn Turned Him In To The Culling Courts To Face Imminent Culling Because Of The Fuck Up’s Failure To Take Her Advances Seriously And Then There Is Much Action During Which The Mutant’s Lusus Is Killed By His Pursuers And Then There Is Running And More Fighting Before The Mutant Blooded Troll Decides To Take His Former Aspiring Matesprit Down In Revenge For The Betrayal Which Leads To A Final Confrontation In Which The Mutant Blood Faces Off Against An Entire Battalion And Then Takes On His Former Aspiring Matesprit In A Fight To The Death Only To Die Heroicly And In A Manner Which Is Remembered Through The Ages.

The title needs a little work, and he needs to calculate the rest of the information. It’s not exactly a romcom, but Karkat thinks it sounds like a good movie anyway. Any movie about _him_ would have to be awesome. Nothing like a good tragedy to get ones ocular globes leaking.

In the end no witty, life changing line is forthcoming. The moment passes and leaves him behind while Karkat is thinking up the title for his biographical movie. He’s been elbowing and stabbing and slashing the whole time. He kind of wishes he could think of a good witty line for just before he dies, but he figures he’ll probably fuck that up too.

Then Pyrope throws one of her scalemates at him and he bats it away irately. She’s still grinning like this is one of her girl games and they’re still on friendly terms. But they aren’t. Karkat lost contact with most of them years ago as their paths diverged and everyone grew up. He only really keeps in contact with Sollux and Aradia these days. Even Nepeta stopped contacting him sweeps ago.

His way to Pyrope is clear. All he has to do is take her down, and then.... Well he didn’t think that far, and when they tried to cart him off to appear before the legislacerators a few days ago he’d fought and escaped. Even if they didn’t decide to cull him for his blood they’d do it now for violently evading arrest.

It isn’t going to help him any to take down Pyrope, except maybe to make him feel a little better. The betrayal is still thick in his throat no matter how much he denies it. Another wave of rage and hurt rises up in him.

Karkat thinks for one stunning moment that he might just survive this.

Then he leaps for Pyrope, sickles at the ready. Pyrope jumps to meet him. Karkat has a millisecond to realize he’s miscalculated—he can’t do this—before the cane clouts him between the horns and he drops like a rock.

He’s unconscious for no more than a few seconds, but when he comes around it’s far too late. Pyrope stands above him, wide toothy grin in place, and light flashing off her glasses. One of her boots is pressed against his chest with false delicacy. He can feel the strength there just as surely as if she were trying to crush his ribcage. He still might be able to overpower her, but before he can try she frees up the blade from her cane. Somehow, her smile gets even wider as she slashes out. The blade opens a neat line on his cheek and Karkat glares up at her.

Bright, mutant red blood pools to the surface of the wound and begins to trickle down his face.

“Fuck,” Karkat says, because that hadn’t even been an epic battle to the death. Then he realizes he didn’t even manage a witty, life changing, memorable before death line.

Still glaring up at Pyrope, Karkat amends the end of his biography’s title to: After An Immense Anticlimax Of A Battle The Grubsucking Idiot Is Killed Unheroicly And Without Dignity Or Even A Witty Ending Line.


	3. With Every Word And Every Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has now been edited.

Karkat’s going to have to keep working on that biographical movie title. It’s still as much of a work in progress as the movie itself it seems. After all, he’s not dead yet. Karkat highly doubts this state of existence is going to last long.

He paces the cell he’s been deposited in. It’s three steps from any side to the other and four from any corner to another. It’s hexagonal shaped, like any cell in a containment comb. It’s also about as exciting as chewing on a mouthful of grubsauce. The thought makes him grimace, makes him remember his lusus and the fucker's penchant for trying to feed him whatever nasty glop it could find.

Karkat shoves the thought aside—his lusus is dead and gone, and fuck, at least he won’t have to put up with the bitchy fucker’s shit anymore. He has more important things to worry about. Like the fact that he’s in a holding cell awaiting his trial—a total farce of a trial, but when aren’t they on this shitball of a planet—with the likelihood of being culled hanging over his head. He won’t be the first of his friends to face this. They’ve lost two of their numbers over the years, and Karkat is honestly surprised they haven’t lost more. The first to fall to culling had been, surprisingly, Gamzee.

He can still remember the sense of betrayal, the rage, the utter mind numbing sense of _oh god what the fuck oh god oh god_. As shitty a best friend as Gamzee had been, Karkat still hadn’t wanted _that_ to ever happened to him. Never wanted Gamzee to get brought before the courts for his contemptuous lack of dignity in the face of his blood status, to be found too fried from his sopor addiction that he was declared a disgrace and useless and _culled_.

That was when he’d begun drifting away from the other trolls. He didn’t trust any of them, and Karkat had it on good authority that Zahhak, the contemptible motherfucker, was at fault for Gamzee’s demise.

Then there was Tavros. And, fuck. Karkat doesn’t even know what happened to him in the end. Just that he’d been so fucking pathetic that they’d hauled him off. Karkat firmly lays the blame for that one on Serket. She’d had it out for the poor fuck since he and Aradia had managed to foil whatever dastardly plans the spiderbitch had been brewing back in their FLARP days.

Was it really any wonder he’d stopped talking to most of them?

The thick metal cuffs on Karkat’s wrists clink noisily as he continues to pace. At last he turns on his heel, and moves to a back corner of the cell. He sits down awkwardly and reaches up to scratch at the blood dried on his cheek. It’s turned coppery and dark now, more like the shade of Aradia’s blood than the candy red of his. For a moment all he wishes is that they’d left him armed, but his strife specibus has been unequipped and his sylladex stripped of all but two empty cards.

With a grimace, Karkat puts his head in his hands and curls in on himself. In a few hours, Karkat Vantas will be no more. Just another spatter of blood added to the mess of some cosmic rainbowstain masquerading as art on the great floors of the culling fields. It’s almost enough to make him fall into hysterical laughter.

It doesn’t quite manage to be that bad.

Somewhere between one breath of air and the next Karkat slips into sleep. Maybe it’s just because of his exhaustion, or maybe it’s boredom, or maybe he’s just fucking sick of being awake but he does. He descends slowly through darkness as thick as sopor slime when it hasn’t been changed in a month. The whisper of dark thoughts haunt and claw at the edges of his sleeping mind. This is a familiar nightmare, one he can never really grasp upon waking because of the pure edge of panic and terror it engenders in him. There is a sound at the very edge of his hearing that just about makes him shit himself every time he hears it. It’s worse this time, the helplessness, the uselessness, and the horror seem even more real. He can just about grasp an image of blood spattered gray metal and the echo of horns in the distance.

And then the horror slips to the side, and the dream melts into something far more normal and maudlin. There is only rage and something else. A mixture between hate and pity, or maybe indifference. He can’t tell. There’s a lot of confusion, like being a stupid wriggler of a mere six sweeps old again. It’s intrusive and insistent, and he can almost remember—something blue and bright. Something he hated with the utmost of his being at the time, and wanted and demanded to have like a grub with a new toy. That gut churning sense of entitlement that still crops up its fuck-ugly head sometimes.

There is a lot of blue, but not the darker mellower blue-blues of blue blooded trolls. It’s bright, and it burns his retinas and makes him hate it more. It’s carefree and like the planet Sk—

He wakes before he can grasp the concept, hold the word close and remember, and forgets the entire thing in an instant when he realizes that someone is crouched over him. Without thinking about it—because he doesn’t want to die, because he doesn’t want to go down without a fight, because he’s a fucking moron—Karkat lunges for the tender throat above him with his teeth. His head smacks back into the wall instantly. The pain is enough that Karkat is sure he’ll have a knot on his head. But there’s something else, the familiar ozone tang of power and the prickle of it on his skin that’s sort of arousing in a dismal fucking way that he hates.

“Jethuth, KK. What the fuck ith your problem?” The lisping words only prove what Karkat already knew.

“Fuck you, Captor,” he rasps back. “If you didn’t want your fucking worthless neck in range you should have stayed the fuck away.” Despite his harsh words there is relief coursing through him now. Sollux came, and maybe, just maybe, he was going to get out of here.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Sollux says, drawling out and tripping over each I. Karkat can see his upper lip curling in a sneer as he leans back over him again. The blueredpurple glow of his powers reflect off of his glasses as the psionic glow settles around the cuffs on Karkat’s wrists. With a crackle and a surge the metal cracks, wrenches, and falls away. Karkat doesn’t bother to swallow his snarl of pain at the rough handling. “Netht time I’ll thtand acroth the room and throw thomething and your thtupid head. Two pointth if I hit your thkull, thixth for your ugly fathe, and ten for a nubby horn.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Karkat growls. “It’s like listening to a fucking nest of dribbling hissbeasts in here. Th Th Th Th. Look at me I’m Tholluth and my thtupid fucking lithp. I can’t even thay my own name like thome retarded shit-for-brainth. In fact your such a shit-for-brains I think I can smell it from here. Jesus Fuck. What the hell did you do? Climb through a fucking load gaper to get in here, Captor? Or is that just your fucking saliva you spit all over the fucking place when you try to talk?” Sollux glares at him from behind his glasses, and bares his teeth in a silent show of violence. Karkat returns it just as fiercely.

“Way to show thome gratitude, athface. I should have jutht left you in here. Oh, wait I thtill can!”

“You wouldn’t dare, you fucker. Not after how hard you had to have worked to get in here.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

With an almighty clang that has Karkat cringing against the wall like a wriggler, Sollux ejects Karkat’s sickles out of his own sylladex and right at Karkat. The blades slam into the wall inches away and clatter to the floor. A second later a stack of loaded captchalogue cards smack Karkat in the face. When he looks up, Sollux is already stalking out of the cell in a huff.

“Shit! Sollux, wait!” Jumping to his feet, Karkat snatches up his sickles and puts them back in his strife specibus, scoops up his captchalogue cards and scrambles after Sollux even as he returns them to his sylladex. “Jesus will you _wait_.” Sollux turns on him with a sneer.

“In cathe you haven’t notithed—”

“That I’m a humongous crapsack of hoofbeast refuse left on a hivestem rooftop for so long that it’s begun to attract shit eating buzzbugs in the trillions.”

“KK.”

“I am a crippled little wriggler too pathetic to even be worth pity, forced to live on an oxygen giving apparatus and a drip line that feeds me nothing but pure liquid rage by which only making me more unbearable.”

“KK!”

“And oh fuck me with a triple psionic side ways sword because now I sound like that shitstain genetic material sucking fuck-for-brains idiot Ampora.”

“KK, will you shut the ever caliginouth fuck up!”

“WHAT. Goddamn it Sollux, here I am crawling on my pathetic fucking knees practically groveling here and—”

“KK, if you haven’t notithed, which you might not have thince you’re too buthy proving how fucking pathetic you are.... _We are trying to get you out of here_.”

Karkat stands there for a moment, arms still in the air from his previous disgusted/ragey flailing and stares at Sollux for several seconds. “Shit.” In a single perfect motion, Karkat brings both of his hands around and slams them both over his eyes. He repeats the gesture again in the vague hope that he might be able to jam his ocular globes far enough back into his skull as to kick start his think pan. The fucking piece of shit is obviously malfunctioning.

“Yeth,” Sollux says. “Shit. Now are you done flipping the fuck out tho we can get thith thtupid carnival of bulge thlapping underway?”

“Yeah, okay, fine. Let’s go, you asshole.”

Sollux pivots once more and begins to lead the way along the hall. “By the way, KK. You and I both know that you and ED have plenty in common already. Ehehehe...I mean neither of you can find a proper romanthe in any quadrant!”

“Oh my _god_!” Karkat screeches, his voice cracking in indignation as he slaps his hands over his auditory orifaces. “You did not just fucking say that, you fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. I’m going to fucking be sick. I’m going to vomit pure disgust all over you like a fountain of intense disgusted rage. Maybe it’ll even be sparkling red vomitwine! AUGH.”

By the time Sollux has led Karkat through a winding route that takes them to the space going vessel dock and away from the containment comb, Karkat is pretty sure that everything is back to normal between them. Business as usual. Back to the crazy spinning death trap ride of low key rivalry and self hate as it were. He still feels a little shitty about his reception, and as Sollux leans around a door frame to count guards, Karkat tries to forcefully swallow some of the hulking refuse pile that is his pride.

“Hey, bro?” Karkat’s voice is soft and gruff even in his own ears. “Thanks for. You know.”

“It wath no problem, KK. We’re a regular pair of pupa palth.” Karkat sends him a look, brows drawn in a scowl and Sollux flashes him a fangy grin that‘s somehow dorky and vicious all at once. “No, theriothly. It wathn’t that hard to get in here. Nobody ethpetth anyone to want to rethcue a cull.” Sollux leans back against the door frame and angles his head just enough that he can watch the dock below them. “Oh, by the way, KK.... TZ thaid to tell you that she’ll give you a headthtart.”

Karkat jerks his attention back from the marching line of threshecutioners down on the floor, winding between the shiny hulls of the myriad ships. Most of them are tiny, meant only for criminal and cull transports or shepherding the drones around. He can see some of those too, lurking in the corners like fugly ass guardbeasts.

So, Sollux had a run in with Pyrope. Fuck but Karkat hopes that ended badly on her end. Damned bitch. “Please tell me you punched her in the face for me.”

"Shit, KK, who the fuck do you think let me in?" Sollux says. Karkat shoots him a glare, and keeps his shock to himself.

For all of a second.

Confused, and irate because of it, Karkat flails a bit. "What the fuck?!” Sollux makes shushing noises at him, and just manages to spit everywhere again, but Karkat ignores this. When he continues his voice is lower. A strained growl. “Are we talking about the same crazy fuckstain that burned her own eyes blind because her unborn lusus told her to? Why? Why would that crazy, psychotic—"

"TZ thtill wanth in your panth, KK. Jethuth, you're tho pathetic."

Karkat makes a few ineffectual grasping motions at thin air. It’s almost as if his hands are trying to choke the life right out of nothingness. His jaw clenches as he forcefully holds back a slew of raging, baffled curses. “Why,” he grits out. “I don’t fucking get it. I’ve turned her down, she’s turned me in. What the fuck is wrong with her think pan? Was she trodden on as a grub? I know she didn’t have a lusus to raise her like some civilized fucking troll but this is just too fucking much.”

“It’th not like she hathn’t been hot for you for thweepth, dumbath,” Sollux grumbles. Karkat’s pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes. “I tried to tell her she wath coming on too hard for you and if she wanted your panth wriggler she ought to go about thingth more thlowly, but no one ever lithenth to me. You should have jutht thaid yeth when she athked you to be her matethprit. It would’ve thaved uth all a shitload of time.”

“Fuck you, you pansy ass—”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sollux says, and Karkat just barely manages to keep from strangling _him_. “Thpeaking of time, we’re on thedule. Tho, get ready to get moving.”

“What the fuck are we doing anyway?” Karkat grumbles.

“TZ got everything thet up for uth. We jutht have to wait for an opening.”

“What.” Karkat says. “Okay, since apparently your think pan is too fucking fried to get it, fuckface. Let me say it straight. I don’t have a goddamned idea what you’re on about.” Karkat is pretty sure he’s getting an eye roll for that one, too.

“Jutht look, athhole.” Sollux jerks his chin toward the ships. Karkat looks at the curved metal carapaces and sharp wings.

It takes him exactly 0.115 seconds to see what he needed. He abruptly facepalms again. “Oh god. Are you fucking serious?” There, on the top of one of the smaller ships, in glaring red, is a drawing. The conical horns, the wide grin, the teeth. It’s quite obvious who fucking put it there, and Karkat can guess why. All he doesn’t know is.... “How the fuck has no one noticed that? It’s a fucking sign. Our race is evolving backwards isn’t it? Pretty soon we’re all going to be slouching around, sucking on chalk, and drooling all over everything like complete fucking retards. That’s it. Take me back to my fucking cell. I want to be culled. I don’t want to ever run the chance of my genes actually making it to the top of the slurry. I refuse to take part in the downfall of our species.”

Sollux is apparently going to ignore him, because instead of answering Karkat’s rant he takes a step forward. “Come on.”

Karkat has no idea what sort of moment just happened, or what Sollux has been waiting for, but he goes with it. He steps out after the other troll and just when he thinks shit isn’t going to surprise him again he finds himself swaddled in sparkling redbluepurple power and lifted off his feet. Sollux is hovering before him, and the air in the entire huge room crackles with his psionic power. Tiny purple electric storms roll over the metal of ships like heat lightning while the guards and drones are picked up and slammed into the walls and held there. Sollux carries the both of them over the empty space and sets them down beside the red marked ship.

When Sollux turns to face Karkat there’s sweat beading on his forehead and cheeks. His clothing is clinging just a little more tightly that usual. Karkat suddenly realizes that to have made it this far, Pyrope’s help or not, Sollux has probably had to make liberal use of his psionics and it’s obviously wearing on him. Through the worry making his digestive tracts churn, Karkat snidely asks, “You need me to get you a fucking towel? You look like Zahhak at a shitty art show right now.”

The light show flickers out with a sound like a small pop and almost immediately alarm klaxons begin to blare. Karkat can almost feel death swooping for them on scrawny wings and flashing sickles. Before he can even think about arming himself Sollux strides toward him and grabs him by the shoulder. He’s always been surprisingly strong for such a stick of a troll, and Karkat stumbles as Sollux shoves him toward the gaping door of the nearby ship. In the same instance he unlocks a jar of viscous mind honey from his sylladex. It lands in his free hand, bright gold and slick.

“You jutht get on board and get that thing running, dumbshit. I can deal with thethe athholeth.”

“No more than a fucking taste,” Karkat gripes. Anymore and Sollux is likely to fry his stupid ass, but the boost can’t hurt. They’ve learned over the years what he can and can’t take, so Karkat’s not too worried. He takes a few grub sized steps toward the ship. “You’ll get your ass over here as soon as you hear the thing gearing up.” It isn’t a question, it’s a fucking demand.

“Yeah, thure,” Sollux says roughly, shoving Karkat’s shoulder again. “Jutht _go_ , KK.”

One of Karkat’s teeth digs into his lip, he doesn’t even care if blood wells up this time because what’s it fucking matter now? He glances at the on coming threshecutioners and the drones loping between the other ships then goes. Someone has to get the fucking ship running so they can get their sorry asses out of here.

Inside the tiny waste of space ship Karkat heads for the equally tiny waste of space bridge. It’s as the screens come to life, as the machinery purrs and groans and hisses, that the first explosive wave of psionic power ripples outward. The panels and instruments arrayed around him spark and fizzle while static reels and drifts across the view screens. Karkat’s eyes are focused on Sollux who’s glowing an almost eye searing purple. Everything suddenly lurches and with a metallic groan the ship Karkat’s in lifts up. Around him, the other ships in the docking bay begin to lift as well. All of them are edged with purple light so bright it burns afterimages into Karkat’s eyes. The smaller shapes of other trolls and drones are flung into the air as well. Sollux rises with them, the eye of the proverbial fucking hurricane.

The air is so thick with pressure and heat and power that it’s like a storm against Karkat’s skin even inside the metal carapace of the small ship. Karkat nearly falls as the ship tilts.

In the air Sollux turns as wisps of psionic power rise like smoke from behind his glasses. Like lightning the blazing white lines of of rifle fire crack though the air. Karkat can only gape in ineffectual horror as they tear through Sollux’ side, shoulder, and thigh. Yellow blood immediately begins to seep into his clothing.

“Shit!” Karkat yells as he finds his voice. It’s thick and gravelly and as fucking panicked as he feels. “What the fuck are you doing asshole!”

Sollux whips his hand back, fingers splayed, and the floating ships fly back and slam into the ranks of rifle wielding guards. A rainbow of blood seeps out onto the floor, and Sollux lifts his hand to his eyes. Even from here Karkat can see the yellow sliding down his chin and the sides of his face. There’s so much fucking yellow blood it seems as if it's trying to escape from every fucking opening: Sollux’ mouth, his nose, his auditory orifices, his eyes, even the nerve and vessel filled base of his horns. It’s ghastly, and probably the worst thing Karkat has ever seen in his life.

Except. Except it feels like he’s seen it before somewhere. He just can’t put a claw on _where_ —

Then Sollux rips his glasses off and the sharp flash of red and blue light blinds Karkat. The next thing he knows he’s flat on his back as the ship is hurled through the hole where the bay doors used to be. Karkat struggles up, and his eyes immediately water at the bright view the screens show—sunlight flashing off an Alternian ocean. It’s the middle of the day, the stupid fucker did this when most trolls with half a brain would be asleep.

Despite the headache the brightly glowing screens give him, Karkat fumbles for a button and switches one screen to show him a backwards view. What he sees makes something in his chest wrench horribly.

The massive form of the containment comb is crumbling, falling apart into the ocean. Karkat stares and waits for ages, expecting Sollux to come flying up out of the falling debris. He waits until the autopilot—preset, a part of him realizes quietly—kicks in and the nose of the ship angles to leave the planet. The roughness of it knocks Karkat to his knees again and he presses his burning face and eyes against the cool metal of the control panel.

They planned this, they fucking planned this. Of course they did, but this was Sollux. The man with the plan. The stupid fucker should have had a contingency plan but but.

“Oh god,” Karkat says, and it’s rough and thick even in his own throat. A keen sticks in the back, and bile taints his tongue. “You stupid fuck!” The words echo back to him in the silence as he sinks the rest of the way down.

Later, when Karkat has screamed himself hoarse and the blackgray sphere of Alternia has dwindled to nothing, and the ship’s warp drive has kicked in, taking him who knows where he finally manages to wipe the sticky red tears off his face. A few hours later still he discovers the months worth of provisions stashed in his sylladex where he knows they hadn’t been before.

It takes him a week to forgive the stupid fuckface, mostly because he’s just tired of being angry with no one to vent it on, and also kind of pathetically lonely. Wherever the fuck this ship’s carrying him it isn’t stopping. When the provisions run out Karkat has his first inkling that something might have gone wrong.

It’s two weeks after that when he first lays eyes on a shimmering blue sphere of a planet in the midst of empty space and realizes no, they aren’t stopping, none of the fucking controls are responding, they’re going to crash, and who the fuck knows where he is anyway.

Whatever the place is, he thinks as he braces himself for entry into the planets atmosphere, he sure as fuck hopes they have food because he’s about ready to fucking cannibalize himself.


	4. I Must Seem Greatly Intriguing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this part up! I sort of had a few weeks there where I just didn't want to edit anything. :/
> 
> Anyway, this is now caught up with the Kinkmeme so posting my slow down a bit. I'm hoping to have part 5 done soon though!

It’s the middle of the night and something intangible wakes eighteen year old John Egbert up. It’s not unusual. He’s just woken from dreams of flying, and controlling the wind; of being amazing and having amazing best friends—which he has three of in real life—of aliens, and ghosts and terrifying things that used to scare him. It’s not so bad anymore, because he’s had these dreams for years. It helped that his friends would tell him about really cool dreams they’ve had too. Jade who dreamed about clouds and a wonderful golden city, and snow and frogs, Rose who dreamed about rainbow drops, prismatic oceans, and all consuming darkness, and Dave who dreamed of the constant tick of time, about heat and steel, and knowing forever was at his finger tips.

He sort of enjoys his dreams now. It’s like having his own private movie. He tells Jade sometimes that one day maybe he _will_ make a movie out of it! How cool would that be?

Except he definitely needs to figure out an ending for it, because he never dreams that far. He hopes it will be the happiest ending in all of ever! But that is all a far off thought when he hasn’t even decided what he wants to go to college for.

And, wow, he has crazy thoughts when he’s half asleep.

It seems that sleep has abandoned him for the moment, and John can only wonder if it’s because the house is quiet and empty. He’s home alone, and will be for a week or two. His dad left at the beginning of the week, three days ago, for some conference or something. John hadn’t really been paying attention when he’d been informed. He’d been too busy trying to evade the platter of fresh baked muffins being shoved in his face at the time. It really wasn’t his fault!

He’s just begun to drift off again when that same something, or maybe it’s a different something slides under his sleepy mind and flips him awake again. With a soft sound John rolls over, sheets—blue with constellations on them—tangling around his legs. With one hand he gropes for his glasses and eventually finds them where he left them on his second, untouched pillow. He smashes them onto his face with some difficulty and proceeds to roll out of bed, takes a step and promptly falls face first onto the floor.

Twisting around John fights with with the blankets knotted around his ankle until they relinquish their clinging grasp. John Egbert, Conqueror of Evil Blankets!

He gets up, leaving the attacking blanket laying half off his bed and snatches his phone off his computer desk. The tiny LED screen lights up at a touch and reveals the time to him like a miniature oracle. It’s only three minutes to midnight. He tucks the device safely into a captchalogue card and creeps out into the hallway. John’s not totally sure why he’s creeping, except maybe that’s what he’s used to. Don’t want to wake his dad when he’s up in the middle of the night after all!

After navigating the stairs he slips through the streetlight and moon shadow living room to the swinging doors of the kitchen. John attempts to keep from slamming them open like a gunslinger in a western and utterly fails. He is also more than a little disappointed that he doesn’t own a pair of spurs. It’s just not the same without the little _plink-plink_ sounds.

The only light he really needs is the one that comes on when he opens the refrigerator door. He considers the contents for a moment. If he’d just wanted a drink of water he could have just gone to the bathroom, but there’s that clenching, sick, and hollow feeling in his stomach like he’s hungry. It’s way too late to eat though, and John doesn’t really feel like fixing something even if it wasn’t. It’s all a matter of priorities. If he eats something then he has to brush his teeth again, and that’s even more time between him and getting back to sleep!

So John fishes around a moment, making a jar of Miracle Whip clink against the jar of Vlasic Pickles. There’s a plastic bottle of apple juice holding court next to a pitcher of lemonade. Somewhere to their right is a plastic tub of left over lasagna. Then, at the very back, like a lonely adventurer out on the road, looking for a lonely old hotel room so he can call up his wife and kids is a half full gallon jug of milk. John grabs it. Milk is filling after all. Rose once told him to try drinking warm milk as a sleep aid. His first gulp had promptly ended up all over the tiles with a pronounced _bluh_.

Warm milk is _gross_.

Milk though...that is alright so long as there isn’t any baked goods involved. John had always been one of those weird kids who refused cookies with their milk during snack time in preschool. Leaving the door open, John snags a glass from the cabinets and stands in the pale glow of the refrigerator. A moment later he returns the milk to its lonely solo journey one glass worth of liquid lighter. As he pivots to head for the door—a little late night TV should make him sleepy again—John hears a noise. It’s muffled and kind of distant but not too far, and it takes only a second to realize that its coming from outside. It sounds like something heavy falling, and he distinctly remembers a night when a raccoon got into the trash and dragged it everywhere.

John creeps into and through the utility room, glass of milk half forgotten in his hand. He eases open the door to the back yard and squints cautiously into the darkness beyond. In the eerie glow of light pollution and layered shadows John is able to make out a hunched figure crouched near the overturned trash can and recycling bin. It occurs to him for a moment that holy shit this could be a burglar and he is about to die. This could be a burglar. With a gun. Who is about to shoot him and steal all his totally awesome movies.

John grabs the sledgehammer from the beside the door with his free hand and proceeds to fumble for the light switch. A second later golden light floods the yard. At first all John can see is the reflection of light—redgold and eerie—in a pair of large eyes. What if it’s some crazy monster dog?! Then he sees the rest.

A pair of horns among wild black hair, gleaming predator eyes, the hint of bared teeth, black clothing, gray skin.

John drops his glass of milk. It shatters. He gapes. The fact that there is liquid and glass shards all over his feet doesn’t seem to matter because there is an _alien_ in his back yard.

Holy shit, he is fucking Elliot and there is ET. It is him. This is his movie and he has an _alien_. He is totally going to gloat about this to Dave _right now_. Er, well, after he got his alien out of his trash cans. Seriously. What the hell?

The alien is crouched there holding up a discarded Doritos bag between two fingers, and staring at John. It’s probably the weirdest way to meet an alien co-star John has ever thought of.

It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

John raises his hand, spreads his fingers in the good old Vulcan Salute and hesitantly says, “Na-Nu Na-Nu?”

The alien’s mouth pulls into an immediate frown as his? expression goes from snarly to deadpan faster than Dave can spin a sick rhyme. John is duly impressed. A small tinny voice announces something in a language John can’t understand. It sounds like a mixture of clicks and trills. The alien looks down at his wrist and scowls even more.

“Uhm,” John says intelligently. “Uh.” Oh man. What should he do? He wants to invite the alien in but...what if he messes up? This is his big chance to have an awesome space alien type adventure. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this in his life. In the end, instead of managing some amazing speech all he manages to do is excitedly blurt out, “Youwanttocomein?!”

* * *

Karkat continues to stare. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen something quite so repulsive in his life. The alien creature, native to this planet he supposes, is so pale. It, he?, looks almost troll like, but there are no horns, no gray skin, and his limbs poke out, long and awkward. His teeth look short and blunt, and his eyes small and dark. Karkat wonders how the creature has survived so long, or if they have a speedy growth process. A sudden worry intrudes, and he glances around. Perhaps this creature has survived because he possesses a particularly potent lusus? There is, however, no direct sign of a custodian. Though Karkat had encountered one briefly a few lawnrings back. The small yappy creature had chased after him until he’d flung himself over the fence keeping it penned in.

Now he is here, desperate enough for food to claw through waste disposal receptacles in the hopes of finding something edible. None of the absolute shit he’s come across has seemed even remotely palatable. Karkat had just come to the conclusion that he’ll have to go and kill the yappy lusus if he wants to survive when the alien appeared in the doorway of his hive.

Then the creature spoke and, wonder of wonders his commchelator doesn’t translate the language these backwater heathens speak. When the alien speaks again, Karkat can do little but stare. The words that were oddly lyrical and smooth before run into each other in the creature’s haste to say them. It reminds him a bit of the featherbeasts that he used to hear back home. On his wrist, Karkat’s commchelator chirps again.

“ _Failure to translate. Unknown language. Intergalatic error number 52201._ ”

Once more Karkat looks at his wrist. More importantly he looks at the small, purple, crab like device clinging to it. The tiny screen on its back glows green in the shadowy light of the alien lawnring. The alien creature speaks again, this time very slowly and with wide gestures of his hands. Karkat follows one warily, eyes locked on the large hammer held in it. Reflexively he bares his teeth and is automatically ashamed. He has never felt quite so much like a worthless, feral animal before.

The creature stops abruptly and stares at the hammer in his hand. In a spark of light it disappears, tucked away into a captchalogue card or a strife specibus. A second later the creature vanishes into the glowing entryway of his hive after waving at Karkat with a hand gesture he _can_ understand.

Wait here is universal it seems.

Karkat contemplates taking off anyway. He’s already dealt with a few hostile aliens recently. There had been the ones in labcoats and black suits that descended on his crash sight, and the ones in the black uniforms and the noisy four wheel motor devices with the blue and red lights that put Sollux' eyes to shame.

Thinking about Sollux still hurts.

In the end, he stays put and the creature returns. They regard each other over the mixture of light and shadow and interspecies boundaries. In one hand the alien holds a small tray as though it is an offering. With extreme care he picks a small, yellow topped thing off of the tray and tosses it to Karkat.

Karkat swipes it out of the air and the yellow stuff smears on his fingers like brightly colored grubsauce. Karkat sniffs at it and is immediately overwhelmed by a sweet, cloying, _intoxicating_ scent. He wonders, briefly, if this is how the entire fucking world smells to Pyrope before he discards the thought. Karkat examines the thing again, letting it roll about on his palm. There is a small filmy wrapper around the things base and with careful claws he peels it away. Beneath its strange wrapping is a pale colored mass. It is obviously a confectionery from the sweet smell, though the bottom half looks like some freakish sponge. It smells good enough, and hunger curdles in his digestive sac again. Karkat has gone through being so hungry he isn’t hungry anymore and back again.

He contemplates the tidbit again and comes to a decision. It’s small enough to pop into his mouth whole and so he does.

The taste explodes on his flavor receptors so fully that it near aches. As he licks the yellow topping off his hand, Karkat locks his eyes on the alien and the array of brightly colored confectionery sponges.

* * *

The tiny cupcake is devoured in a flash of teeth—those teeth!—and glowing eyes once more land upon John. “You want another?” John asks, grinning. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he attempts to keep his glee to himself. The alien rises slowly, eyes narrow, and approaches John with a jerky sort of grace. John is surprised to see that the alien is about the same height as he is. Those sharp looking teeth also poke out in an eerily similar fashion. It’s a bit like looking into the craziest fun house mirror John has ever seen. Only, for a moment, it feels like more than that. It feels like a hazy memory, or a dream, or déjà vu. John tilts his head, the grin sliding off his face, and considers the alien. “Do I know you?” he asks. It’s a fruitless question, but it slips out before he could really think about it.

The thing on the alien’s wrist chirps again.

The alien stares at him, and reaches out. His hand is lean and the fingers neither long nor stubby. The tendons stand out starkly on the back. They look so normal that they could be human if it weren’t for the claws, and even then they aren’t really claws as John would consider them. They’re just nails, slightly long and just a bit pointed. They don’t really look dangerous, though there is a very slight orange sheen to them.

The alien selects another cupcake and pretty soon he’s chewing on it. They aren’t peanut butter cups, but apparently Dad’s tiny cupcakes work just as well.

John backs into the house, careful to step over the swath of broken glass and spilled milk. He’ll have to clean that up later, because right now he just doesn’t care. The alien follows after him, boots crunching over broken glass. His head turns this way and that. The look on his face reminds John of a cat—contemptuous and curious. He’s about as rangy looking as a stray tom too! John stifles a grin and continues leading the alien further into the house. Halfway through the kitchen the alien gets fed up and snatches the tray of tiny cupcakes from John. Without further prompting he prowls through the swinging doors to the living room.

Giddy, John just about bounces after him before recalling that the back door is still standing wide open. For a moment John is torn between doing what he knows he needs to and just not caring. In the end being the Devoted Son he is wins out and John snatches a dish rag from beside the sink. He makes quick work of the milk, then rights the trash can and recycling bin. The broken glass is carefully collected and deposited in the former. By some small miracle he manages to keep from cutting himself open.

Once he’s finished with his cleaning, John returns through the house and heads into the living room. He finds the alien standing before the sofa, gnashing a cupcake, and staring contemptuously at the harlequin doll John’s dad had given him for his thirteenth birthday. John stops beside the alien and mirrors his expression as he looks at it for a second. He hasn’t been able to get rid of it even all these years later, and it just sort of migrates around the house at random—the effect of frequent prank wars. In an utterly dispassionate move the alien reaches out, grabs the doll by its hat and flicks it off to the side.

The doll lands with a weighty _fwump_ while the alien turns to slouch down on John’s sofa and gnash a few more cupcakes. John gazes thoughtfully after the doll. It sits against the wall, slumped under the window like a drunkard—a clown style hazard at the base of the stairs. The upper point of the doll’s hat just peeks over the window sill.

With a smile, John thinks that he and this alien are going to be the _bestest_ interspecies bros _ever_.

John fetches the remote from the side table, careful not to knock aside one of Dad’s pipes, and turns the TV on. The volume is low while the screen displays some random infomercial. The alien stares at that just as dispassionately as everything else. John suspects a tragedy. Clearly his new alien pal is sad and far from home. They will have to find a way to turn that frown upside down!

For now though, John studies the alien sitting on his couch in the clash of blue TV glow and the faded orange light that seeps in through the windows. It’s a combination that only serves to make his guest look even stranger. It washes out the gray of his skin and gilds it while at the same time deepening the black of his clothing and hair. John thinks he sort of looks like he could melt right into the light and shadows of the room.

That clothing is interesting though. It’s black, and looks like armor. The style reminds John of ancient Rome, though more Kevlar than metal. The edges are gray and actually seem to glow faintly—a little like glow sticks. The alien even has the cool shoulder wrap cape thingy which is pinned near his throat with a small round medal depicting a symbol. John edges closer, and plops down on the sofa. When the alien doesn’t appear to notice him—he seems to be enthralled in watching some guy parade around the latest in exercise machines—John edges closer still and peers at the gray symbol.

Weirdly, he’s pretty sure that’s a Cancer symbol!

Maybe, John wonders, he comes from a planet out near the Cancer constellation?

John flicks his gaze up further, taking in a sharp jawline and snub nose at a glance, then the alien’s furrowed brow and finally the wild thatch of his hair. Inevitably, John’s attention is snared by the horns growing from the wild black tangle. Although the light discolors them slightly, he remembers glimpsing them briefly in the light of the utility room. Yellow tipped, fading gradually into orange, and then a warm deeper red-orange. Before he realizes what he’s doing—like a kid dipping into a candy jar—John reaches out and curls his hand around the nearest horn.

He just barely avoids the frosting stained hand that flails at his face by grace of reflexes honed through years of avoiding all things confectionery. He is, however, immediately arrested by the series of sharp barks, rolling growls, and underlying clicks spewing rapidly from his guest. John realizes, fascinated, that he’s hearing an alien language. He supposes it’s the same language as the little device the alien has, but it’s just...so much cooler when it’s organic!

The alien jerks his head up and back in an attempt to dislodge John's hand, but John won't be beat that easily. His hand slides down the horn. It's smooth against his skin, but with the faintest of horizontal ridges. Kind of like a fingernail. When his closed fist bumps the top of the alien's head from which the horn grows, the alien freezes completely. John blinks at him from behind his glasses as a slew of mumbles drift to him. Curious, John leans closer, listening.

It's then that he notices something.

“Hey,” he says. The alien says something, and the tone is obviously snide. John smiles. It's probably a good thing he can't understand him! “Where are your ears?”

There's another couple of lengthy lines of low, growls and clicks while John leans in. He is an explorer. A master of alien biology! He must understand his find.

The alien's hair is coarse and fine beneath his fingers as he carefully folds the wild tufts of it aside. A hand lands abruptly on John's collarbone and tries to shove him away as the alien's tone becomes increasingly aggravated. John continues to refuse to back off, and after a few more brushes of his fingers he figures it out. The alien's ear is in the same general place as a human's, the only difference is that...well, there's no ear! It's just a carefully protected little hole in a certain cowlick at the side of his head. Kind of like a bird, or something.

The alien has gone quiet, his breathing hissing irately and his fingers tangled in the T-shirt John wore to bed. John looks down at the alien and finds him looking back at him through the wild mess of his fringe. John tugs lightly on the horn in his hand to get him to tilt his head back, and ducks down just a little to get a proper look at his face.

The first and most noticeable thing are the alien's eyes. They're large and golden orange. The pupil slowly expands in response to his proximity; a black hole devouring a golden nebula. There is no iris, or perhaps the eye is all iris like an animals and there are no whites. John's gaze tracks up to the sharply furrowed, bird's wing edges of the alien's eyebrows then follows the bridge of his nose. The alien's lips are curled back revealing a fierce set of teeth that would look more at home on a shark. They're triangular, look just a bit serrated at the edges, and are attached to deep gray gums. Geeze, but John would hate to be bitten by those!

He's amused to note that the alien's lips are smeared with yellow frosting. It's something that only stands out all the more against the fact that they're black. John's only warning is a low growl before he gets a face full of palm and is shoved backwards. He loses his balance and topples right off the couch into a heap on the carpet. He's laughing the whole time. In fact, John is laughing so hard that tears are starting to leak from the corners of his eyes.

A sharp pain in his shin tells him that the alien just kicked him. John utters a low “Ow” and rolls away, still chortling. He presses his hands against his stomach and screws his face into the carpet in an attempt to muffle his hilarity. Behind him John can hear an angry, vehement litany rising and falling as the alien gabs at him in his weird language.

Eventually John gets himself under control enough to open his eyes. He very nearly breaks down again at the sight of small yellow smears congealed across the lenses of his glasses.

John rolls back onto his back and props himself up on his elbows. The alien finishes viciously eating the cupcakes and sets the tray they were in aside on the sofa. John considers him for a moment, thoughtful. When his guest notices him staring he makes a hand gesture that's easily understandable even with the fact that he's an alien. John's pretty sure it translates to 'go fuck yourself'. Unable to help himself, John gives him a dopey smile, teeth digging into his lower lip from his amusement.

After a bit longer he stands up and decides to try and communicate with his guest. With broad gestures of his hands, John speaks very slowly, “You. Can. Stay. Here. You. Are. Safe. Here.”

The alien stares at him as if John is a retarded kitten and he doesn't know whether he should put it out of its misery or not. Man that alien sure has expressive expressions! Then he rolls his eyes and flaps a hand at John, and even if the alien doesn't know what he just said and there was no communication at all John decides to take that as an affirmative.

He promptly grabs the upheld hand and drags the snarling alien off the sofa, over the clown speed bump and up the stairs. After all, John is a good host and he has to show his guest where everything is. As he's already seen the kitchen, utility room, and the living room...all that's left is upstairs!

Of course the most important thing to show a guest—next to where they can sleep—is where the bathroom is. So John drags his grumbling guest down the hall, pointing out Dad's bedroom and miming _never go in there_. He's not sure he's too successful because the alien just sort of stares at him like he's mildly entertaining in a sad sort of way.

John leads the way into the bathroom and flicks on the lights. He presents the room with a little _ta-dah_.

The alien strides past him and stands there under the over bright glow of the naked light bulb attached to the ceiling. John observes him for a moment in all his smudgy black and gray weirdness. He is just so excited! He really wishes he could tell someone about this. He was definitely going to get a hold of Dave as _soon_ as he could, if only he...

He had his phone! If John wasn't too busy fumbling it out he would have facepalmed. He gets it out and logs onto his Pesterapp. Dave is on, of course, he always is no matter the hour. Unless its between the hours of four in the morning and noon. Jade is as well, though she appears to be idle.

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

GT: oh my god. oh my god. oh my god.   
TG: what  
TG: what has you derping so hard at this time  
TG: arent you usually in bed by now   
GT: i was! but this is way better, dude!  
GT: dave, there is an alien in my house!   
TG: pics or it didn’t happen bro

So John swings his phone around as the alien curls his lip at the bathtub and snaps a picture. The tiny click makes the alien whirl toward him, and he lunges at John who holds him away with a hand between his horns. So cool. His alien is way better than ET. Those teeth are still kind of scary though! Particularly when it looks like the alien is trying to bite his elbow off!

John whisks the picture across the internet to Dave with a few movements of his thumb as he holds the phone as far away from the alien as he can.

TG: why is he in your bathroom egbert  
TG: inquiring minds want to know   
GT: that is so not important right now, dave!!  
GT: there is an alien, and he is in my house!  
GT: and he is going to stay here! this is so awesome!   
TG: look at all those shout poles man  
TG: just look at them  
TG: you are so excited and spamming them all over the place  
TG: like some puppy trying to type out a shout pole army   
GT: asndasndadiu912421jl;a,sc;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;   
TG: what the hell dude   
GT: u987yhui89765dcvbhnjm   
TG: dont interrupt when im getting my metaphor on   
GT: 987654ertghjkoppppppppppppp   
TG: that one wasnt even good yet it was like half baked  
TG: i had all the ingredients to get going and now i cant   
GT: 9211q56789mllllllllllll   
TG: you totally ruined the moment egbert   
GT: whoa. sorry, dude! the alien was totally trying to eat my phone, i swear!  
GT: aw, man look at that tooth mark.   
TG: hahaha oh god what did you do to get him to stop   
GT: i, uh, kind of shoved him into the bathtub. hold on let me make sure he's alright.  
GT: I heard something hit hard!   
TG: this is great seriously i am so entertained  
TG: did you murder your alien already  
TG: because that is seriously sad

John edges over to the bathtub and peers down at the alien. He's sprawled there, head in one corner beside the shampoo bottles. One bottle has tipped forward and slid down his chest. The alien's knees are bent over the side of the tub, feet dangling above the tiles. A pair of livid golden eyes glare back at him from behind the hanging flap of a washcloth. John reaches out and pokes his shoulder just in case he's dead.

Fast as a Hollywood ninja the alien's hand snaps out, snags John's wrist, and gives him a yank. Predictably, John topples. He just manages to avoid smacking his head on the rim of the bathtub by getting an eye full of sharp alien knee. His elbow smacks the tub, once again proving that funny bones aren't funny!! There's a sharp _snap_ behind him, and a hand presses down on his back, holding his wriggling body in place. John goes still, and a second later cold, slimy shampoo is oozing down the sides and back of his head and neck.

The bottle sputters as the alien squeezes it to eject more of the scented goo. John, miserably, concedes defeat. For this battle. He's so totally going to get revenge.

As the alien attempts to shove John off and struggle out of the bathtub once he's finished dumping the bottles entire contents over John's head, John fumbles with his phone. It slides in his fingers on a combination of shampoo and—red tinted!!--saliva.

TG: sad like that time my teacher made me bring home the class pet  
TG: it was a hamster bro  
TG: pretty sure its still somewhere in the bowels of the apartment building  
TG: feasting on the flesh of discarded dolls and lost children  
TG: or it could be that mummified lump i found behind one of bros speakers last month   
GT: okay! he's still alive, no worries!  
GT: this is so gross. i can barely type haha.   
TG: do i want to know whats going on over there egbert  
TG: because it kind of sounds like i dont   
GT: haha what?  
GT: he dumped shampoo all over me!   
TG: . . .  
TG: if you were anyone else id ask if you were serious  
TG: but its you and you are the king of unironic seriousness  
TG: we should get rose in on this shit  
TG: itd be like her version of a wet dream only with less tentacles  
TG: wait  
TG: does your alien galpal have tentacles   
GT: i'm pretty sure he's a he, dave!  
GT: and no he doesn't.  
GT: at least not visibly!   
TG: well thats good i guess  
TG: wouldnt want rose getting tentacle envy  
TG: then shed hate you forever   
GT: no way! we are such great friends.  
GT: now hold on again.

John captchalogues his phone again and hurries after the alien who's escaping out the door. He manages to bypass him in the hall by squeezing past, and directs him to his room. One step inside, John flicks the lights on, and the alien makes a bee line for John's old desktop. At over four years old it's kind out of date, and mostly replaced by his six month old laptop, but the alien seems to be interested in it for now.

John takes a moment to wonder if he ought to feel ashamed for his level of technology, but there's shampoo oozing down the back of his shirt and he really needs to clean that off. So he grabs a new shirt from his dresser, leaves the alien poking at his desktop, and retreats back to the bathroom.

By the time John has finished washing his hair he's pretty sure he has the cleanest hair in the history of forever. He takes another brief moment to clean his glasses as well, and to wipe his phone clean. As he does he watches reams of red text scroll by him, spinning away into infinity as Dave raps about holding on so hard the hook dont know what its got until its gone. John interrupts with 89alallosa casasa. Dave ignores him.

As he walks back to his room, John briefly examines the tooth mark marring his screen. It kind of looks like a dog used his phone as a chew toy.

GT: hey, dave?  
TG: what  
GT: i'm going to log off now. i'll talk to you later.  
TG: yeah sure  
TG: go play with your new alien  
GT: haha! night, man!

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--

John closes down the Pesterapp and wanders into his room. The alien has managed to boot up his old computer and is now staring at the mess that is the desktop with an annoyed scowl. John flicks his light off—the alien doesn't seem to notice—and flops down on his bed. He watches his guest whose alien-but-familiar face is lit by the harsh blue glow of the screen. He can hear the alien muttering to himself in his weird-but-awesome language.

Between one blink and the next John falls asleep to the sound of angry typing and alien words.

* * *

Karkat glances over his shoulder for the billionth time. This time the alien creature appears to be asleep. He allows his shoulders to relax from their tense line. Karkat doesn't know what to make of this whole mess, but at least he's got somewhere to lay low for now. Even if the creature doesn't want him to, Karkat is pretty sure he can take him. The freak doesn't seem to mind so far even if he is a creeper.

Karkat casts a glance over his shoulder again and stares at the sprawled figure. He's sleeping on that weird platform of his, gangly limbs everywhere and mouth hanging open. A ratchety snore grates out every now and then, and his glasses are attempting to climb off his face. Karkat snorts and rolls his eyes.

His host, he decides, is at least pathetically entertaining. Like a shellbeast on its back and unable to flip itself over and Karkat is standing over it, watching it struggle and wave its stubby legs.

Turning back to the strange, mechanical computer he's sitting at Karkat removes his commchelator from his wrist and sets it on the desk. It immediately climbs to its pointy little legs and scuttles down the side of the desk toward the block beneath it. While Karkat waits for it to connect with the device, he considers the screen. There is a program on it which had logged itself in when he turned the computer on. It's much like Trollian only obnoxiously orange and containing only three names.

Two are online. The third is grayed out.

Suddenly, a window pops up. Karkat stares at it, but can not make any of the words out. The text is somehow _similar_ to Alternian, but not enough that he can be assed to decipher it.

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] \--

GG: hi john!! :D  
GG: what are you doing on so late?  
GG: not that its a bad thing! it's been awhile since we got to talk!!

Karkat stares at the words and wonders. Do these fucking crazy lifeforms have neon blood? Jesus fuck. Where the hell did he end up? He reaches for the keyboard for the hell of it, and staring down at the indecipherable keys shrugs.

GT: uo grtk yooiik mmmkklll''''''

Karkat stops and stares again as soon as he finds a key that sends the text onto the screen. It would just figure that he'd end up with an _alien blueblood_. As if those shit-for-brains hadn't given him enough problems before.

GG: uh, john? are you okay?? D:  
GG: john?

Quickly, Karkat figures out how to minimize the window and ignores its flashing. A few minutes later the screen scrolls with more familiar text as his commchelator takes over the stupid thing. The chat application closes and Trollian pops up. A nearby window flashes through foreign, alien, websites as the commchelator goes about downloading the local language so as to create a database for translation. Karkat stares at the Trollian window for a moment. He's signed in under invisible as he always is lately. A few of his old friends online.

His eyes are drawn only to one name. It's grayed out and offline and never to be online again. He moves twinArmageddons to a different list alongside terminallyCapricious and adiosToreador then changes the setting to keep the chat client from logging him in automatically, logs out, and turns away from the computer.

His eyes fall on the nearby window, and Karkat considers the dim stars beyond. He's not really sure what to make of the fucked up mess he's gotten himself into, but he's not surprised. His life has been one fucked up mess after another.

Might as well add this to the list.

How fucking depressing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commchelator -- "Communicator" and "Chela"  
> Pronounced: Comm-KEY-lah-tor


	5. Open Doors

John wakes up the next morning with his throat feeling a little raw and his skin cold from the air conditioning. He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair to find it has dried as he slept. It's plastered oddly in places while it sticks up even more oddly than usual in others. He rolls to the edge of his bed and just barely catches his glasses before they slide off and make a flying leap for the floor.

John's bare feet hit his floor as he sits up. He reaches up and slides his fingers under his glasses to rub at his eyes. It isn't usual that he falls asleep with them on. It's as he lowers his hands that he notices that the room is otherwise unoccupied. The alien is nowhere to be found.

For a moment disappointment plummets through John's stomach like a meteor traveling for earth at terminal velocity. Had it all been a dream? Or, worse, had his guest run off? John's on his feet within seconds, stumbling out his door and into the hall beyond. He staggers down the stairs—nearly nose dives down them in his rush and has to reach out to brace himself on the wall. John tears through the house searching shamelessly. The empty cupcake tray is still on the sofa, the clown laid out at the foot of the stairs. The doors remain closed as they were last night, and the TV is still on. The Today show is playing at low volume.

John takes his search to new levels. He even pushes aside his dad's harlequins on the off chance that the alien can shrink and hide behind creepy clown knick knacks. When at last his search defeats him, John retreats to his room to get ready for the day. There's a slump to his shoulders, and a sad twist to his mouth. He'd really hoped the alien would stick around, and the loss is kind of disproportionate to the amount of time he knew him!

John yanks his shirt off and turns to fetch another. It's then that he notices it. The tower of his old computer has been moved out from under his desk a short ways. It, along with the pillow and blanket he hadn't noticed were missing from his bed, is being used to block off the space beneath. Mildly disturbed but mostly curious, John shuffles over to his desk and squats down. It's all jammed in there pretty good!

He reaches out and uses a finger to push and prod at the blockage until he manages to create an opening. A little more work and John squints into the dim space under his desk. The alien is there, curled in a little ball, but somehow fitting. He's also snoring, and maybe drooling a little, and most definitely sleeping.

Aliens, John decides, sure are weird.

John tilts his head, squinting, and contemplates his alien guest. Is this normal for them? Should he try to wake him up? Move him to the bed?

In the end he decides it's probably best to leave him where he is for now. Maybe it's one of those psychological things Rose is always going on about! The alien is, after all, alone on a strange planet. He'll have to ask her later.

With a final look at the alien—and gee he can't be too comfortable with that armor and it is not a very big space—John stands and returns to getting ready for the day. A bit of digging produces his PCHOOOOO T-shirt with the space ship on it. John wonders if that counts as irony and if Dave would give him a high five for it. With a snort of laughter he dismisses the idea. Dave is way too cool for that! Maybe a bunp if John's lucky.

He head's back down stairs at a quick clip after finishing his morning routine, and as he rounds the landing a knock sounds on the front door. In his rush to answer it, John forgets about the harlequin doll and trips over it. He performs an awkward hop skip combination, arms flailing, and manages to avert disaster. Quickly, he ascribes points to his mental Awesome Reflexes Bro gauge and stumbles to the door.

On the other side is a plump, middle aged woman with a kind smile and fly away hair. In her arms is a stack of newspapers. “Hey, kiddo,” she says. John gives her his best, dimply smile.

“Good Morning, Doris,” he says, because she hasn't liked being called Mrs. McArthur since they first met. He takes the stack of papers from her. “Any good news today?”

She snorts and tucks a piece of graying hair behind her ear as she turns to head back for the curb. “Not unless you like monster rubbish. See you tomorrow, John.”

“Bye!”

Monster rubbish, huh? Well, he _kind of_ likes monster rubbish. He was never really into scarey monster movies. There had been that one time Dave managed to come up for a week one summer and they marathoned movies and Dave kept picking the B-rate horror movies.... John remembers that he'd been scared at first, but then Dave had sat there snarking through the films—“C'mon Egbert don't be such a wuss. That's so fake it looks like it came in a happy meal.” His jokes, the silly metaphors, it'd made it better. Even when Dave ramped it up and made him sit through all the Saw movies. Blood and gore and people dying left and right had no power over Dave-induced snicker fits!

John dumps the stack of papers on the sofa and heads into the kitchen. A few minutes later he's armed with a couple pieces of toast, spread liberally with butter and a dusting of cinnamon, and is sitting on the floor in the living room. A glass of lemonade holds court next to his knee since they're out of orange juice.

As today's weather report plays in the background, John snatches the paper off the top. The words across the top read The Covington & Maple Valley Reporter. Hard news. Dave called it obsolete, Rose called it pointless. Jade asked him to mail her an extra—she'd never seen a newspaper before.

John had gotten the job when he was fourteen and starting to want extra pocket money of his own. Mostly he'd gotten the job because every boy hero in movies seemed to be a paper boy. He was just hedging the bets against his future in awesome movie style adventures. Just like he'd tried to bring some of his toys to life with a little cupboard he'd convinced his dad to buy him when he was six.

He flips open the neatly folded paper and takes in the front page. There's a large, grainy photograph spread across the majority of it. It's really terrible quality and he should know! His best bro takes amazing photographs and John has an entire file on his laptop filled with the most breathtaking vistas a big city can offer. He's probably got enough crazy awesome perspective images of buildings to be a certified architect.

John considers the image the paper offers to him. If he squints and tilts his head just a little it sort of looks like a humanoid figure, but it's really shadowy and hard to tell. Maybe those are eyes? Is that an arm? It's sort of like a crazy cool puzzle. He glances at the article title.

It reads:

Monster of Pipe Lake  
Connected to recent Pipe Lake Event?

John shoves a corner of cinnamon toast in his mouth and checks out the article.

Three days ago several people in the Pipe Lake area reported visuals of unexplained lights, blah blah blah, UFOS, blah blah, local authorities unworried, blah blah, weather balloon, blah blah blah. Last night reports of a man-like creature in forested areas heading toward the Maple Valley area, blah blah, police sighting, blah blah, enthusiasts claim bigfoot or aliens, blah—

 _Wait_. Aliens? Oh no. John hopes this article isn't about what he thinks it's about! Quickly, he tosses the paper aside as if the act alone would keep it from being real. It's a silly thought, but he can't help it! The last thing he needs is for some government bureau or something to come snooping around and find the alien. That always ends badly. His new alien pal would get tortured, or turned into a side show, or worse John's alien's alien friends would hear about how inhospitable the earthlings were and then there would be an invasion! This would be cool so long as it was a non-violent invasion. Maybe John should get Dave to record some boops and beeps in the likelihood that they need them to pacify some aliens?

Knowing Dave he'd find a way to make it insulting

John was _saving the world_. He was so going to make sure the alien's stay was the best ever.

With a nod, John munches on his toast and begins to roll newspapers. He secures each with a rubber band. During a quick break he pulls his phone out and logs onto his Pester app. No one is on quite yet, but that's fine. Rose should be soon enough!

In short order, John has the day's batch of newspapers bundled and ready. He opens his sylladex—a nice wallet model Dad gave him for his eighteenth birthday—and goes about captchaloguing each one. It's taken him an embarrassingly long time to get any sort of handle on his sylladex, but now he and the handle are totally best friends!

The metaphor sounds terrible even in John's head. Dave would be ashamed.

After John finishes getting ready for the day he leaves by the back door to grab his bike, which he wheels around to the front of the house. He swings a leg over, settles on the seat, and kicks off. He's learned to control the, formerly, rather random expulsion of objects from his sylladex to his advantage. He uses this to deliver the papers, sending them arcing onto porches and stoops with little accuracy but a whole lot of cool finesse.

Well, he thinks it's cool at least! Dave just called him a derp when he told him, but that's fine. John's decided to take the supposed insult as Dave-language for you are so cool bro way cooler than me how can I ever live up to your awesome.

John's pretty sure he won't ever tell Dave that though.

Already the day is looking up. The sky is an open sunny warmth that pools against his side and back like honey. Beneath him the tires of his bike hiss against the pavement, and John grins. The breeze brushes past his ears, tousling little tufts of hair, and sometimes he swears he can hear something. Maybe just a whisper. Like that there are people standing outside just around the corner. John slows down, coasts to a stop at the next stop sign and sets one foot on the ground. He peers around, whistling a nonchalant tune, and sees that there _are_ a couple people loitering near their car.

While he waits for them to leave—because most other people get a little weirded out when things get flung from nowhere—John pulls his phone back out. At about that time Rose logs on, and John grins.

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

GT: hi rose!!   
TT: Good morning, John.  
TT: You seem to be in particularly good humor today.   
GT: haha, you could say that!  
GT: it's just that something really amazing happened last night!   
TT: It must be if the quickness of your greeting is anything to go by.  
TT: Not to mention, judging by the time, you're messaging me while you do your paper route, aren't you?   
GT: no way, i am a devoted worker.  
GT: i would never slack off like that.   
TT: You would, however, slack off by leaving your work undone to message me?   
GT: aw, ok you got me! I'm totally getting my paper on.   
TT: I know, John.  
TT: Why don't you tell me about your exciting event?  
TT: Or, hmmm.  
TT: Allow me a moment to attempt to discern the cause behind this effect, this unmitigated excitement and happiness.  
TT: Did you, as a certain insufferably prickish compatriot of ours would put it, “get laid at last”?   
GT: rose!!  
GT: that is kind of inappropriate!   
TT: I see.  
TT: Should we discuss the reasons for your intense aversion to sexual topics? I feel it could be quite an eye opening endeavor.   
GT: uhhh, i think i'll put a rain check on that conversation and the one before it too!  
GT: i need to get this next street done.   
TT: Alright. I will await your return so we can continue this fascinating conversation at a more convenient moment.

John captchalogues his phone, blushing like mad, and kicks off the sidewalk after the car rolls by him. He has no idea how Rose can make him do that! Dave doesn't even manage it when he starts teasing him about similar subjects. And it's not like he hasn't had a girlfriend before! He dated Meg—which was an awesome name—for two years before they broke up about six months ago. She didn't want a long distance relationship and John was not moving to Florida.

Although he'd always kind of wanted to visit. Maybe during hurricane season. Rose had psychoanalyzed him for an hour after he'd admitted that. Dave liked to call it his weird weather fetish. Jade had just told him that someday they should visit together, it would be a super exciting adventure. John had told her she was his favorite that day—his favorite changed pretty often.

But, that was beside the point. Like, not even right beside it. It was standing across the road from the point and waving at it. (That was a good metaphor. John was going to have to remember to tell Dave about it.)

Meg and he had never gone “all the way”, sure, but there'd been sloppy make outs! Maybe he doesn't date as much as Dave, or even Rose, but that was fine. John's always been more of a find a life partner kind of guy anyway.

Somehow, all he can imagine is Rose sitting in her kitchen, thousands of miles away, a glass of water in hand and a smug smile on her lips. John promptly releases his handlebars and smacks both hands over his face hard enough to elicit a faint, “Ow.” His prankster's gambit falls a good five bars. He's pretty sure he's been had.

John drops his hands onto his knees and pedals on. It's taken him a long time to master this trick too, since it's more coordination than anything and he's not exactly Mister Coordinated. But he managed it, and it's pretty awesome. Sometimes, when he's sure no one is watching he likes to spread his arms out and pretend he's flying, because _awesome_.

A short while later he's coasting back home, steering with his legs once again, and has his phone in his hand.

GT: ok, all done!   
TT: Congratulations, and welcome back.  
TT: Shall we pick up this dialogue where we left off?   
GT: totally! and we totally left off talking about the cool event that happened last night.  
GT: otherwise known as the night of awesome.  
GT: instead of that other thing you were trying to talk about which never happened.   
TT: All I am gathering from this response is more evidence to my prior thoughts on your repressed sexual desires. I am also gathering evidence for my theory that you are spending too much time speaking with Dave.   
GT: don't hate! dave is cool.   
TT: As you say.  
TT: He is quite chill if one defines cool as a bundle full of repression and denial of one's issues. Quite chill indeed.   
GT: haha ok, i get it. he is like your favorite pet brain.  
GT: you sit there poking him with a stick like he is a dead thing.   
TT: Please do not begin metaphoring at me. I get quite enough of that from the object of our discussion.   
GT: awww, but i'm on a roll today, rose!  
GT: dave would be proud, and we would have the most epic brofist in the history of the universe.  
GT: men will cry manly tears and the ladies will all swoon.  
GT: it will be that epic.   
TT: In the earnest interest of steering us back from this digression: John, you were going to tell me something?   
GT: oh, right!  
GT: i found an alien in my back yard last night.  
GT: he doesn't have tentacles though, so you don't need to be jealous.

In the following, lengthy pause, during which John expects Rose is tempering her immense jealousy for how awesome his life is, John slides off his bike and walks it back around the side of the house. When he ducks back inside he finds it still silent and unchanged. John clambers slowly up to his room as quietly as he can. His room is unchanged as well, right down to the stuff blocking off the underside of his desk. John sits down on the edge of his bed and stares at it.

Eventually his phone chirps self importantly and draws his attention back to it.

TT: Forgive that pause. I was attempting to get my thoughts in order from that truly, heh, revealing reveal.   
GT: it's fine! it really is the kind of thing that would make your brain explode.   
TT: Yes, quite. I have my responses now, and while they are both immediate I am unsure which is more important so I shall just make a list and you can answer to both at your leisure.  
TT: A) Tentacles? How are you aware that this alien does not, in fact, possess any. Wondering minds would like to know, John.  
TT: B) An alien? Are you sure it was not just someone pulling a prank on you? After all I am well aware of your family's tendency toward childishness.   
GT: uhm!  
GT: well, i guess i can't definitively answer the first question since he was wearing clothes.  
GT: and it so is not a prank. i totally checked.  
GT: his horns are attached, and he has no ears and the hair is not a wig.  
GT: as a master prankster i would know if this was a prank, rose!   
TT: Horns?   
GT: yeah they're little and nubby and kind of candy corn colored, except without the white. it's pretty neat.  
GT: hold on and i'll send you the picture i took last night!

ghostyTrickster is sending pic698.jpeg

TT: Hmmm.   
GT: well?   
TT: He looks like a man covered in body paint and ridiculous costume fripperies.   
GT: haha, i know! but he isn't.   
TT: I will take your word for it.   
GT: oh, and rose. he's kind of weird.  
GT: well, weirder than the fact that he likes baked goods.  
GT: bluuuuuuh!!   
TT: As a member of an alien race I would expect him to display some differences from what we perceive as normal.  
TT: You could stand to be more culturally sensitive, John.   
GT: i am culturally sensitive. it is me.  
GT: it's just, he is kind of asleep under my desk.  
GT: and he snores a bit like mr. tinkles, the neighbor's evil pomeranian I told you about.  
GT: all whistley and kind of cute! but you know there are sharp teeth involved which makes it terrifying.   
TT: Ah, yes, remind me to ask you how your view on small, yappy mongrels is evolving. We haven't had a chat about this phobia in some time.   
GT: it is not a phobia. it is a healthy respect.  
GT: what should I do about the alien?  
GT: he kind of stole my extra pillow, my blanket, and stuffed up the hole in the desk and is all curled up in there.   
TT: I would suggest leaving him there.  
TT: It's possible his reclusive act stems from a need to feel less exposed. A psychological need to hide, if you will, or perhaps a feeling of small concealed spaces being safe.  
TT: Or your guest could just be nocturnal.  
TT: He does appear to have rather large pupils and a generally dark based color scheme.   
GT: i hadn't thought of that. thanks rose.  
GT: oh, whoops, i should probably go! i need to get ready to work.  
GT: bye!   
TT: Have a good day, John.

\-- ghostyTrickster [GT] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--

* * *

Work, for John, is a place called Lakeside Video. A place he's worked at part time when he was still in high school, and now works full time since he's graduated. It's a small time video game and movie rental place not far off, and to which he can walk or ride his bike if it's nice, or otherwise bum a ride off his dad. As today is nice, clear, and actually getting sort of muggy John rides his bike.

When he arrives the open sign is already hanging in the door, and the owner/John's manager can be seen wandering around inside through the large front windows with their displays of movie posters and creepy cardboard movie characters. Walking into the place has always felt like walking into his own personal wonderland, and John grins. It's the best job he could have asked for—he even gets discounts when buying movies here!

“Hey Val!” Short for Valerie, but she likes the nickname better. It had been the first rule John had learned upon getting hired, and he'd stuck by it religiously.

“Hey, Egghead. Still enjoying being an adult?”

John laughs, and recites, “Oh yeah! It's not so bad right now, but with you to assure me that soon enough my life will be a spiral of despair and bad decisions I don't think I'll be disappointed."

Val winks at him from over the aisle of pre-watched five dollar DVDs. “Good kid.”

John discreetly rolls his eyes and ducks behind the counter to log into the computer and get everything running. Soon enough he's immersed in checking names and late returns and seeing what's been dropped off and needs to be shelved. The work has a simple sort of pattern to it that allows John's mind to wander. Even more so when he's squared it all away and has nothing better to do but lean on the counter.

All in all it's pretty quiet, and John spends it contemplating his alien guest. A part of him wishes he could have called off work, but he figures that his guest will be fine. The alien seemed to be sleeping pretty well when he left. He probably needed the rest. Who knows what he's been through just to get here!

Morning passes into noon and at around one Val heads out to grab them some lunch and returns with a couple of sandwiches from Subway. People drift in and out now and then, returning their rentals in a harried rush or stopping to browse the selection. By the time Tyson—a part timer who John remembers from school—arrives with Bill, Val's husband, John is more than ready to head home. His alien guest is waiting after all!

Bill and Val exchange a series of snarky greetings. They remind John a bit of Rose and Dave when they really get going, only more affectionate and 'I want to kiss you to shut you up' kind of thing. Rose and Dave are more 'I'm going to introduce your head to the proverbial blender'.

As much as John wants to tear out of there and rush home he doesn't want to draw attention to any weird change in his habits. The last thing he needs is for someone to discover his guest. He likes Val and Bill, and even Tyson a great deal but they just aren't the same. No one can quite top the absolute trust he has in Dave, Rose, and Jade. Not even his dad, maybe. But then there's always been something kind of fishy about his dad in John's eyes. Maybe it's just the harlequins, or maybe it's just a child's natural suspicion of their parent as Rose likes to put it, John doesn't know. It's just _there_.

With his friends though? They might only be internet buddies, and he's only ever met Dave in real life once before, but...he'd trust them to the ends of the earth and beyond.

Tyson ambles over to him with a shy sort of grin, his arms caught in his crutches. He's got leg braces, and apparently it's something he's had to deal with since he was a kid. John's never asked in an effort not to offend him. It doesn't really matter anyway. “Going to buy something today?”

“I dunno,” John says. He eyes the for sale movies speculatively. “I probably shouldn't.”

“And deprive your movie collection?”

John snickers and wanders down the shelf pulling out a DVD case here and there to look behind it at one that's hiding. “How was your day?”

“Good enough.”

After a few more minutes of idle chitchat John snatches a case off the shelf at random before he looks down at it. In his hand is a battered, faded copy of ET. Despite having seen the movie a few times it was always online. John's never owned an actual copy of it. He decides then and there it's fate and walks back to the counter with Tyson.

Maybe he'll make his new alien pal watch it with him.

He buys it, bids farewell and heads for the door. Val walks out with him. It's about fifteen minutes after four o'clock and the air's still warm and muggy, but the sky has gone all cloudy. They roil up out of the west and come creeping inland from the Tacoma area. John can feel a few sprinkles land on his arms as he stands there.

“You want a ride home, Egghead?” Val asks. “We can load your bike into the back of the pick up real easy.”

John _really_ wants to say yes, but...what if his new alien pal is out and about or something? He suddenly has a new appreciation for the heart ache and drama of those kids in 'a boy and his insert creature here' movies! “No thanks! I should be able to make it home before it gets too bad,” he says with a toothy smile.

“Alright, see you tomorrow, kiddo.”

John watches her walk away, shuffling his feet anxiously. Once she's busy getting the rusted door of her pick up open, John captchalogues his new movie and darts for his bike. He fumbles the combination in his excited rush to get it free and thus takes three times as long as he normally would. When he gets it free he's off as fast as he can, kicking off the pavement and leaning low over his handlebars. The ride passes quickly, but still isn't fast enough. John arrives home just as the rain begins to speed up, and has to rush to get his bike tucked safely up against the house. By the time he gets inside the shoulders of his shirt are damp and cold.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, John drags the hem of his shirt up and uses it to clean the spattering of fat raindrops off his glasses before wandering into the living room. The house retains an overly quiet quality, and it's only now that he's really noticing it. It's strange to realize he's here alone, and will be for the foreseeable future. It isn't often that Dad is away for such a long space of time. With the TV off there is absolutely no noise. There's no sound of running water from upstairs, or a baking timer clicking away in the kitchen. There's no hint of pipe smoke that isn't growing old and stale on the air. The house feels utterly isolated.

John heads upstairs and takes a quick peek into his room only to find that his guest appears to still be asleep. John snags his laptop off his dresser as quietly as he can and heads back down. In the end he winds up slouched on the couch, the TV on to a random channel for background noise as he waits for his computer to boot up. When his desktop swims into view it's an image of four crudely drawn friends hanging out—two blondes and two black haired kids. Two girls, two guys. Dave's signature in the corner is a lot more elegant than his ironically shitty rendition of them.

John mutes the TV and digs through his music files for one of Dave's compositions which he sets playing. It's an upbeat, almost jazzy tune that fills the room with bubbling life. It infects John too. He snags the pillow sitting in the far corner of the couch and hugs it to himself. The front has a knitted image of his favorite green slime ghost on it—a present from Rose awhile ago.

A window pops up on his laptop as soon as his Pesterchum finishes loading.

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] \--

GG: hi john!! :D

And suddenly it's like he has all three of his best friends right there with him. John smiles.

GT: hi jade!!  
GT: you have the best timing!   
GG: :O the very best timing?   
GT: the best timing ever! except for maybe dave's, but we all know he's kind of weirdly punctual.  
GT: but this time you have the best timing. only you.   
GG: yay!! does that mean I get to be the coolkid now? ;D   
GT: yes it does, you are coolkid. it is you. go be the coolkid, jade.   
GG: :( i don't think i can really be the coolkid!  
GG: unless you want to roleplay, i guess! but that would distract me from why i messaged you!   
GT: we can totally roleplay later if you really want to.  
GT: it can be your prize for awesome timing.  
GT: you can be dave and i'll be rose or something!   
GG: :O that sounds fun, actually!  
GG: that is definitely a thing that we should do, but first!!!  
GG: !!!!! (more exclamation points for excitement and suspense!)  
GG: tell me about your guest, john!!!   
GT: whoa, how do you know i have an exciting guest?  
GT: are you psychic? oh my gosh, it would be really cool if you are!  
GT: what's my future? do I get go save the world from meteors or something awesome like that?   
GG: ): no! i'm not! but that would be really cool if i was!   
GT: aww, that's ok. i'm sure you would be the best creepy psychic girl if you were.   
GG: but if there were meteors to save the world from, i'm sure you'd do it, john!   
GG: just like that one movie you like!   
GT: armageddon?   
GG: maybe! :D  
GG: I don't really know much about your movies, sorry. :/   
GT: that's okay, jade!  
GT: but how did you find out?   
GG: dave told me about it last night.  
GG: i tried messaging you and got a really weird response, so i messaged him instead.  
GG: and he was like B| jade let me tell you he totally had an alien land in his backyard in a totally off the hook ironic way and i am telling you this seriously so dont fret your derpy girl glasses ok.   
GT: oh wow, you are really good at being dave!  
GG: :D thanks!!  
GT: it was like i was talking to him for a moment.  
GT: i was like, whoa when did dave get to where jade lives and steal her keyboard?  
GG: haha! i'm pretty sure i am not that good, but thanks, john!  
GG: so tell me about your guest already! i am super excited and curious!!!  
GT: there's not really much to tell. although he didn't land in my backyard.  
GT: he was just kind of digging through my trash. kind of like a space hobo.  
GT: and then i lured him inside with cupcakes, and he ate them.  
GT: also kind of like a space hobo. wow, maybe he is a space hobo!  
GG: oh nooooo! D: he's not going to kill you and leave you in a ditch for some intergalatic police to find is he?  
GT: haha! no way.  
GT: at least i don't think so. he seems kind of harmless really.  
GT: all growly and flaily but not really scary.  
GG: i know what you mean! dave sent me the picture, too. he looks kind of cute!  
GG: those little horns!! <3  
GT: exactly!  
GG: do you  
GG: happen to have more?!  
GT: no, but i will definitely take more.  
GT: he's kind of asleep right now, i think.  
GT: rose says he's probably nocturnal!  
GG: aww! :( definitely take more.  
GG: oh! i know. i will send you pictures of my dog.  
GG: he's kind of weird, but now i think you might be more ok with him! :D  
GT: oh geeze, that means i'll be the first of us to see your dog.  
GT: dave will be so jealous.  
GT: i feel like we're becoming better friends already.  
GG: haha yay!! :D :D :D

gardenGnostic is sending becisthebestdog.zip

GT: i'm going to go look at them right now!   
GG: ok! :D

John minimizes Jades window and hunts up the file, unzips it, and scrolls through the revealed photos. John opens the first one. It's Jade as a baby being carried in the immense jaws of a rather large white dog by her diaper. The dog is blurry around the edges, and there's something really weird about it. It takes John a moment to notice that it doesn't have any eyes. He taps the arrow key to move the the next image. This one shows a toddler aged Jade sitting on the dog's shoulders. The dog's legs are motion blurred and they appear to be romping through a grassy field. He taps the arrow key again.

Each picture is of Jade at varying stages in her life with the strange white dog. In some pictures there's a weird crackle of bright green around the dog, and it's more blurred than in others. Some are just pictures of Bec, and in one there's an older gentleman sitting at a table drinking tea while the dog reclines at his feet. The most recent image is of Jade as she is now—or so John guesses—and the angle suggests she's holding the camera aloft. Her dark hair is half hidden by a bright green bandana covered in white doggy paw-prints, and her cheek is squished against Bec's fluffy white head.

John brings her window back up.

GT: you were a really cute baby, jade!  
GT: and also, is your dog an alien dog?!   
GG: thanks john!  
GG: and he might be. we don't really know where he came from! :(  
GG: apparently grandpa found him a long time ago in the ruins near my house.  
GG: bec saved his life from a trap in there, because he's a good dog.  
GG: but he kind of frustrates grandpa, because he won't let him explore the deep ruins!  
GG: every time he tries, bec just teleports him out.  
GG: grandpa kind of gave up on the ruins after awhile. :/  
GG: but bec really loves me, so i think it's ok! :D   
GT: whoa! he can teleport?!   
GG: :/ don't all dogs teleport?   
GT: none of the dogs i've met, but that makes your dog more awesome!  
GT: the most awesome dog on earth!  
GT: maybe one day i can meet him.   
GG: yes!! that would be the best thing. :D   
GT: i'll bring my new alien friend, too. we can have a big alien pow wow!   
GG: we can have a picnic!  
GG: we should invite rose and dave as well!   
GT: haha, of course. We can't have an awesome alien party without them!  
GT: and speaking of rose and dave.....  
GT: want to claim your awesome coolkid prize? :B   
GG: oh yay! haha, yes, let's do this! :D   
GT: ok! i'll start!   
GG: yes!!   
GT: How are your feelings feeling today, Dave?  
GT: And by that I mean, are you still repressed and full of issues.  
GT: /rose says as she sits down on her therapist chair.   
GG: B| shut your silly girl yap lalonde i dont have issues i am a strider  
GG: *dave says as he stands coolly with his hands in his pocket.*   
GT: /rose looks very pointedly at her therapist couch and says   
GT: Please, Dave, sit down on my Therapist Lounge. We must do this properly.   
GG: B| no way you just want to get me in your heinous lady trap its not going to happen babe   
GT: Now, Dave, do not act that way. I am well read. I merely want what is best for you.  
GT: /rose says with a small smile   
GG: *dave turns to head for the door and says*  
GG: B| dont patronize me lalonde i am well onto your ploys me and my shades are going to get the hell out of dodge like a criminal making for the border   
GT: /rose stands and puts a hand on dave's shoulder  
GT: /she says  
GT: Your rejection of my offer only makes me more sure of your issues. It could indicate a very big rift in your ability to be social.   
GG: BI what no way i am a social king look at me at these parties and all these ladies falling down at my feet   
GT: haha, did you just make your dave face pout?   
GG: :O whoops! i did!   
GT: i am laughing so much. oh man, this is the best idea.   
GG: :D so m I! I cant see to stp. its makin typing knd of har~~   
GT: oh man oh man now i'm just laughing harder.  
GT: adjsdsl haha

John clutches the pillow to his chest and grins down at the laptop perched on his sock clad feet. He's trying hard to keep from laughing too loudly, and there are tears of laughter making his vision go blurry. In the silence between one song ending and the next he can hear the low grumble of thunder as the storm coming in grows closer. Then there's another sound followed by a creak. John's heard the sound often enough to recognize it—it's the sound of someone moving around upstairs.

GT: hey jade, i think he might be awake.  
GT: i'll talk to you more later ok?  
GT: and we can finish our RP then, haha!   
GG: sure! i should probably go get bec his lunch anyway. :D  
GG: bye, john!!   
GT: bye, jade!

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] \--

* * *

When Karkat staggers to his feet his body is shivering in the aftermath of the dark, whispering, undercurrent of his dreams. His muscles quiver with tension and the slither of violence. With no sopor slime in weeks, it's starting to get to the point where even rest isn't exactly restful. A part of him hopes he'll adjust eventually, because the likelihood of ever seeing sopor again is infinitesimal. He can do nothing but bare his teeth, grind them together, and yank a hand through the mess that is his hair. Karkat clenches and releases all of his muscles to will away the lingering after effects of his soporless sleep, and breathes out harshly through his nose. When that doesn't quite do it he paces tight little circles on the floor and flinches instinctively away from the window.

The light is obviously fading from the sky, and his own internal, instinctive senses tell him that nightfall is rapidly approaching. What he can see of the sky is cloudy enough to dilute the remaining sunlight, but it still makes his skin tingle. The festering pus balloon of a sun that this planet orbits is worse than Alternia's. He has no idea how these fuckers survive on this shitball. It's not helping the shaky mess his moments of sleep are slowly turning him into, though this one was a little more bearable. Being enclosed, feeling momentarily-sort-of-safe had made him more able to relax, but it was still there. Having gotten some food into his system probably helped as well, though he's a little shocked he isn't sick as fuck from stuffing his face with those confectionery sponges. He actually feels pretty good. Hungry again, but not bad.

Eventually he feels in control of himself enough to venture out of what he thinks is his host's respiteblock. Karkat manages to find his way back to the hygieneblock. It's just as alien as he remembers it being last night. The ablution trap is still a low trough, the load gaper tucked away in a corner. He approaches the later warily and peers into the bowl. It doesn't look like it works terribly different, but fuck if Karkat trusts these assholes to know what they're doing. He uses it all the same, and it works fine even if it takes him a bit longer to figure it all out. It's pretty goddamned embarrassing all in all.

Karkat catches sight of himself in the reflecting panel over the alien wash basin as he moves to wash his hands. The dark smudges under his eyes are worse than usual, the planes of his face oddly gaunt, and his expression is somewhere beyond the usual surly scowl and closer to taut and grim. He curls his lip at himself, and his reflection mirrors the move. "Look at yourself, fuckass," he growls. "Fucking pathetic waste of space. Exiled on some heathen planet and this is where you end up. Fucking lucky you're not wetting yourself in a corner and crying yourself to sleep."

He runs his hands under the water and leaves before he gets some retarded urge to try hate smooching himself in the reflection panel. This shit's fucking with him more than he thought it was.

And then he wishes he hadn't left the hygieneblock, or maybe that he hadn't left the respiteblock, because when he heads down the stairs he finds the doofy looking alien waiting for him. The alien stands at the base of the stairs, his fingers twisted together and a wide smile on his face. He has dimples, and his eyes are kind of freaky looking behind the lenses of his glasses. It's not that they're terrifying or, somehow weird, just...so alien that Karkat can't even categorize how he feels about it. That's about the only goddamned thing he can use to describe the entirety of his host. He's bright all over, from skin to expression, and choice in clothing.

Karkat refuses to back down in the face of a pasty little nookwipe of an alien. He juts his chin out, teeth grinding together, and stalks the rest of the way down the staircase. His host doesn't move back as he approaches, and soon enough Karkat finds himself nearly eye to eye, nose to nose, chest to chest, with him. They regard each other—Karkat with narrow eyes and the alien with wide eyed wonder.

If he starts touching him again Karkat is going to toss him out of his own hive, end of story. He really, really isn't in the fucking mood to do with this moron's pool of stupidity. Karkat isn't even willing to dip his toes in the kiddy pool let alone the deep end. In fact he's more than willing to give up his ticket's to the closest schmuck. Shame no one would want them.

"Uh, hi," the alien murmurs. "Did...did you sleep well?"

Immediately Karkat's commchelator translates: _"Sound of Uncertainty. Hi, did did you sleep well_?"

It's probably the stupidest thing Karkat's ever heard, and he's not even talking about the question. He's talking about how fucking idiotic the translation function is on this thing is, still, he's got the gist of the question and automatically replies, "Fuck you."

Unfortunately, while the commchelator can translate the alien's language into Alternian, it isn't equipped to work the other way around. If Karkat had been higher up in the ranks he might have been able to get hold of a two-way translation device, but fuck him he's not. Like fuck is the world going to wait to make this easy on him.

And the alien is perking up, giving him a wide eyed look of surprise and delight. "Oh man, did you understand me?!" he asks, voice just this side of breathless.

Karkat listens to the translation and rolls his eyes, gives a slow nod to make sure the backwater planet dwelling shitstain understands the motion and snidely mutters, "Of course fuck for brains, what the fuck did it look like?"

Then he has a face full of soft alien hair as the idiot _tackles him into the staircase_. Karkat's breath rushes out of him, the alien's knees hit _hard_ on either side of his hips, but he doesn't seem to notice. Karkat is going to toss him out of his own hive as soon as he can fucking get up. That's it. He's had enough.

Of course, the fucker is chatting away, and doesn't even seem to notice the low growl thrumming warningly in the air.

He's also clinging to Karkat like a fucking rocksucking clingmonster. His arms are around his neck, his thighs squeezing Karkat's hips. Karkat manages to wriggle his hands in between them and shoves against the fuckhead's chest. The only result is pushing him away slightly and getting his fucking arms trapped. Jesus Fuck in a Rainstorm of Shit and Grubchips _what the ever loving fuck_. Karkat's starting to panic, starting to wonder if he's going to die and be absorbed like some sort of amoeba, and the freak is chattering away like it's 12th Perigree's Eve come early.

"Oh man, that is _so cool_. You can _understand_ me now. This is like one small step for mankind, one giant leap for interspecies friendship building. We are going to be the _best alien buddies ever_."

The commchelator has a bit more trouble parsing that, if only because he's speaking so fast, and also because a few of the words don't really translate. But Karkat manages with the string of attempted, wonky translation.

"I would kiss you, but that would be kind of gay!"

Karkat's going cross eyed by this point, and really what is it with this fucker and invading his goddamned personal space anyway? His commchelator happily informs him that 'gay' is _"A slang term for humans who prefer sexual partners of the same gender._ "

Karkat's pretty much had it with this planet already and if he could leave he would be long fucking gone. "For to love of the decaying, fleshy mess you call a think pan get the fuck off of me before I crack your skull open with the sheer pressure of my ever mounting rage. I will split open your forsaken fucking chest plate and pull out your vertebrae through your fucking nose, you nookslurping, bulgegulping suckmonkey!"

By the end of the rant the insipid pink monkey is already standing a little ways away from him and Karkat realizes he's been flailing ineffectually for a good half minute or so. The idiot has this doofy look on his face, head tilted and all bemused smiles. Karkat hates that he can't understand him, that he doesn't understand the full range of the sick verbal beat down he just laid on him. Having an unappreciative audience is absolute hell, and it makes him want to punch the—what was it the commchelator had called them?--human in his squishy mug.

Then the human _laughs_ like Karkat is the biggest joke he's ever seen. "Wow, okay, you're kind of a cranky guy aren't you?" The human scratches at his hair line, and looks away. Karkat realizes he's going to kill the idiot about three seconds after he's already lurched back to his feet. It's like his think pan is on slow mo, his thoughts coming through a filter. The human turns back to him with a bright smile that falters a bit in confusion as he's met with Karkat's upheld hands. Karkat meets his stare and wills him to realize his end is nigh. The human blinks, the asks, "Oh, hey, are you hungry?"

Karkat goes stiff with disbelief. "Are you brain damaged?"

"Because I am, and I think it's about time for supper?" He walks off, leaving Karkat standing there face slack, and vision hazy. Karkat breathes through his nose and focuses on the middle distance. "Oh man, this is going to be so cool. Time to start your initiation to earth food—hey, you coming?"

Karkat takes a moment to consider the entire situation. He lays it out before himself. He tries to figure out how his life brought him to this point, where the fuck he went so wrong that he wound up exiled on an alien planet with the stupidest motherfucker in the known universe. A stupid motherfucker who can't even tell when he ought to be fearing for his life. Would Karkat be doing a disservice to the world by removing this asshole from their gene pool?

In the end, he decides they would probably hail him as a _god_.

Karkat follows after the human with an irate prowl. He refuses to let him out of his sight if it's going to involve food. Karkat is most definitely not following him in an effort to see if there are more of those confectionery sponges to be had. Definitely. Fucking. Not.

The human is puttering around, inspecting the shelves and muttering to himself too quietly for the commchelator to pick up. Karkat makes for what he suspects is the thermal hull and pulls the door open. Inside he finds a conglomerate of containers sitting in an approximation of order.

Karkat glances over his shoulder at the human who is, it seems, embroiled in a fierce staring contest with a large slab of confectionery he's holding in his hands. Karkat supposes he found it during his search. "Bluh," the human says. "Why, Dad? Why would you do this? Ugh."

(Karkat's commchelator helpfully informs him that a 'Dad' is a 'human male custodian.')

At random Karkat reaches into the thermal hull and selects a container. He examines the top of it. There's a little, red, crab-like creature on the label that looks disturbingly like his lusus. With that thought, Karkat promptly flips the fuck out and fires the plastic container across the room at top speed. It hits the cupboards above the humans head, bursts open, and rains sticky bits of what Karkat firmly believes is diced lusus. These humans are fucking sick bastards.

The human gives a shocked sound, and flails. The unsurprising result is a slab of confectionery flying through the air. With the way Karkat's life goes he's completely unsurprised when the fucking thing hits him in the face, full on, before sliding off and hitting the floor with a plop. Laughter rings around him, echoing off the walls of the room and filling it to burst. Humiliation simmers low, and slides indelicately right into rage. Karkat absently licks some of the sweet tasting goo from the corner of his mouth and prowls forward.

The human doesn't notice him. He's bent over, arms around his stomach, and wheezing with laughter. His glasses look like they're about ready to fall off. Karkat snakes a hand out and grabs him by the back of the neck. The human immediately tries to jerk out of his grasp, and he _almost_ manages it. Karkat tightens his grip, digging his claws in just slightly. "Whoa! Hey!"

Karkat drags him stumbling forward and shoves him to his knees on the tiles. Without missing a beat he crouches down, shoves him down further, and plants his derpy fucking face right into the smashed pile of confectionery on the floor. He grinds down a little even and allows a smug, satisfied expression to pull at his face. The human flails and presses his hands against the slippery floor in an attempt to wrench free.

And suddenly everything is beautiful and Karkat feels vindicated. Perhaps he's not getting back at the whole fucking universe for all the shit it's put him through recently, but he's got this one tiny revenge. He feels suddenly magnanimous so he lets the human go.

For his mercy Karkat quickly finds a handful of gooey, mashed confectionery smearing all the way down the front of his armor. When he lunges for the human he's warded off with a hand between his horns—again—and a sticky finger waving in his face.

"You totally deserved that, now stop snarling at me!"

Karkat stops snarling. And attempts to _remove the idiots hand from his arm with his teeth._

The confectionery smeared hand smacks him abruptly on the nose. Karkat reels back, one hand coming up to clamp over said nose. The human meets him wide eyed stare to wide eyed stare. _What the ever fucking fuck..._

"Huh," the human says into the silence of their mutual shock. "Jade was right! Although she gave me that advice for dealing with Mr. Tinkles...."

Karkat tracks the human with his eyes as he makes his way over to one of the counters, and grabs what looks like a roll of liquid absorption papers. He tosses a wad of them at Karkat without even looking, and some of Karkat's befuddlement melts away into irritation in the face of having the goddamned thing bounce off his forehead. He snatches it up and uses it to wipe away some of the sticky residue on his face as the human gets more of them and makes for the smashed confectionery on the floor.

Then he licks some of the stuff off his finger and is suddenly way more interested in that than watching the human whine about the mess on his floor. It's his fucking fault anyway. Karkat's just contemplating licking the smears of sugary sweet goo off the absorption paper like he's Pyrope at a goddamned rainbow party when the human finishes with the mess and rounds on him.

Whatever the human was going to say stops mid word, and Karkat stares at him, tongue flat against the absorption paper and the mouthful of sugary goodness there. The human looks like he's trying not to burst into laughter again, and Karkat once more contemplates ending his life in the most gory manner possible.

"I have no idea how you can stand that stuff!" the human says. "Anyway, come on. You can borrow some of my clothes or something and get cleaned up. You've got frosting all over your hair."

Karkat does his best to regather his dignity and pretend he wasn't doing what he was doing. He's not that fucking ridiculous. That's saved for drooling morons like his former friends, and this alien shit-for-brains. He blames it on the shit in that confectionery. Whatever it's made out of it's ridiculously fantastic. It's like he's lost all ability to form coherent thoughts and act like a rational member of troll society for a second. It leaves him pleasantly buzzed and energized. He wants more of it.

Lucky for his dignity, the human ushers him out of the room and back up the stairs before he can do something really fucking insane and start licking the floor. Or the alien, who's still covered in that shit.

"I'll go back down and finish cleaning up while you're in the shower," the human is saying. "And then I'll make us something to eat."

After a disturbingly perky whirlwind of activity Karkat shortly finds himself shoved into the hygieneblock with a bundle of clothing in his hands and an irate sneer on his lips. For some reason the idiot human seems to think that his growls are a pointless waste of breath instead of the god given warning to fuck the hell off that they are. He's never met someone with less survival instinct. Except maybe Nitram. That dumbfuck wouldn't know survival instinct if it had landed on one of his oversized horns and proceeded to make a nest in his hair.

Karkat stops that line of thought, stops reminiscing about his lost friends, and marches off to battle with the human ablution trap.

It takes an inordinately long time but he wins eventually.

It's only once he's out that he realizes he has no idea how to clean his armor. His lusus had always taken care of it, even if the stupid fucker only had claws. Laundry, menial shit like that—the stupid crab monster had always skittered around, picking up his clothes and scattered miscellaneous objects to keep the hive clean. His lusus is now dead, he's on an alien planet, and there's goo all over his fucking armor. Armor that he's _proud of_ goddamn it. He harbors the thought of licking it off or all of a second before deciding to make the human take care of it.

Begrudgingly he dresses in the clothing the human gave him. It reminds him, nostalgically, of home. Reminds him of the time before he was considered as good as an adult, even if not quite, and could lounge around in the comfort and safety of his hive. Karkat wishes he'd had time to grab some of his clothing before he'd made a run for it, but when it had finally come it had happened suddenly. He'd probably have been better prepared if he hadn't been living in a mixture of denial and hope that Pyrope was just bluffing.

Looking back on it, Karkat knows that what Pyrope did was normal behavior. Just like it was for Zahhak to turn Gamzee in. He was a blueblood, and Gamzee didn't act like he should. It's normal, and maybe a part of Karkat thinks it's stupid and they could all be _better than this_ , but it's normal. It's normal for trolls to test those they pity or hate to the limits. It's all about life and death and survival and knowing the limits. Push too hard and you're without a kismesis or matesprit when the drones come call, don't push hard enough and your quadrant filler is so pathetic they get culled or die and then your up shit creek heading for defecation falls.

It's just fucking normal, but Karkat's always been a really shitty troll anyway.

Didn't mean he had to fucking like it.

Karkat slouches out of the hygieneblock, barefoot, damp haired, and pulling at the hem of the shirt he's wearing. He kind of wishes the sleeves were long like his usual style. The short sleeves make him feel oddly exposed.

He heads down stairs and discovers the human is still lurking around in the culinaryblock. As soon as he walks in the human turns to him, holds something up that smells vaguely like food, and says, “I made you a Hotpocket!”

“ _I made you a_ ,” Karkat's commchelator translates. It pauses, hesitantly, on the next word. He waits it out. In the end it concludes, “ _Human food stuffed bread packet_.” Karkat artfully refrains from slamming his hand into his face hard enough to jam his nasal bone into his gray matter. He puts his energy into wandering over to the human, taking the proffered food source, and shoving his armor into his waiting arms. At the human's frown he points meaningfully at smeared mess on the front and curls his lip. He wonders, briefly, if he treated the human like a lusus if it'd work.

A really stupid lusus who can talk back.

He seriously considers the idea, then considers the food he offered when the human rolls his eyes—obviously annoyed for the first time since Karkat met him—and drops his armor on a counter top. Karkat ignores the human, other than a glance to make sure he's working on getting his armor clean, and tries to decide if he's willing to attempt to eat the so called food he's been handed.

The hunger gnawing at his stomach again makes the choice for him. He takes a large, ferocious bite. His teeth slice through it with ease. It reminds Karkat of stuffed grubloaf, although the taste is altogether different. It slides over his tongue, hot and slick, and just a hint sweet. He bolts the rest before he really even thinks about it.

About five seconds later he realizes that that was probably a _very bad idea_. His stomach roils in discontent. Karkat's not sure if it's because he ate it so fast, or if it's the weird food, or maybe he was wrong and he wasn't as fine after the last few weeks as he thought. He must have made some sort of sound, because the human whirls toward him.

"If you puke on the floor I'm not cleaning it up," the human says immediately. Karkat glares viciously and heads back toward the other room. He practically leaps up the staircase. He's probably lucky he didn't kill himself.

But he makes it. Barely.

Karkat spends the next few agonizing minutes retching into the alien load gaper. It's only after his heaving has slowed down, and he's breathing through a mess of snot, tears, and drool that he realizes the human actually followed after him. He hovers nearby, offering a towel and looking kind of worried. Karkat can hear him fretting in a nonstop babble the commchelator is having trouble keeping up with. Something about being afraid he's poisoned him, and Karkat kind of wonders about that too. He would slap the moron silly if he had the energy left after vomiting what feels like his entire body's worth of guts and bile.

The human's face is twisted into a soft, if slightly grossed out expression when Karkat snatches the towel from him. Karkat's hands are trembling, and his muscles feel like nothing so much as liquified excrement. He's utterly disgusted with himself and the show of weakness. And then he notices the red tint staining the white fabric of the towel, and realizes it's coming from his face. From the tears he'd barely noticed had been forced out of his eyes, and promptly everything feels like it's gone to hell all over again. As freaky as the fuckers on this planet are he doesn't doubt that he's still the freakiest motherfucker to have ever landed here.

When the human takes another step toward him, Karkat bares his teeth and lets out a snarl that, for once, works. He stops and crouches down, palms held up. A swirl of self-hate lodges somewhere in the bottom of Karkat's stomach. The look on the human's face makes him feel like some feral fucking animal. It hits him with a suddenness that hadn't really set in until now that he is right. He's the freakiest fucker this asshole has ever seen. He's the alien here, the monster. He snarls again, suddenly tired and enraged, and fucking sick of everything.

The human stands and steps back. His expression is still holding that strange, oddly soft expression. Worry, sorrow, maybe even pity and that's almost as bad as the look before it. It's worse than anything that's happened recently. Except maybe Sollux' death.

"I'll just...I'll go see if we have any soup or crackers. That should be easier on you stomach," the human says. His voice is soft, falling into the room like a pattering of raindrops on a hive roof. Barely there, and oddly soothing. "You can just come down when you feel up to it."

Karkat barely notices him leave but for the soft tread of his feet on the hard floor. The floor on which Karkat remains sitting. It's hard, and cold, and oddly grounding. He stares at the stained towel, at the bright red tint on the fabric. The cause of all of this, of all the fucking problems in his miserable excuse for existence. The fabric is easy enough to rend beneath his claws, to tear it to shreds until it's nothing more than fluffy bits of scrap. He hides it in his sylladex without a second thought.

He stays sitting on the floor for as long as it takes to convince himself that the human probably didn't see the red. Karkat's pretty sure he's too fucking dumb to be that observant.

Karkat pushes himself to his feet and flushes the load gaper, then moves over to the wash basin. He stands there for a moment, the taste of bile a disgusting reminder on his tongue, but there isn't anything that looks like the teeth cleaning devices he knows from home. Even if it's disgusting to steal someone else's he desperately wants the taste of what might as well be his shame gone from his mouth. In the end he settles for rinsing with water and spitting it out several times.

It doesn't help all that much, but it will have to do until he figures out a little more about these idiot humans.

Karkat ventures back downstairs to find the human back in the culinaryblock. He's mildly gratified to see his armor's been cleaned and is laying spread out on the counter. A bowl is nearby, steaming gently alongside a package of what, to him, looks like lusus treats. The human gives him a smile that makes dimples appear, that shows too many of his stupidly blunt looking teeth.

"You should try to eat if, uh, you're feeling up to it." He scratches behind his ear and glances around. "I'll just go get cleaned up now? Gross. I think the frosting's dried in my hair."

Karkat's weirdly relieved when he takes off, and a part of him doesn't want to eat ever again. The more practical side of him kicks in and he knows he has to. He takes it more slowly this time, leaning against the counter and testing one of the crunchy little squares. It's not bad. Tasteless, salty. Even better when dipped in the soup in the bowl beside it. He angles his gaze out the nearby window where the sun's slipped away completely. Everything's in sharp relief to his eyes, though the bright lights inside the hive hinder it some. It isn't unbearable. He can't really see the stars from here, not with the bright glow and the shitty angle.

Still, he wonders. About Alternia, about the life he left behind and will probably never get back. He wonders what was said, who was blamed, and what his former friends think. He wonders if he's supposedly dead, if Pyrope got away with her life intact. Weirdly, he hopes so. It's hard to hold shit against her when she helped save his life, when he knows she was just being a good troll. For a moment he kind of hates himself for turning her down. They probably could have been good together. She would have been a good choice of matesprit with her position as a fast rising legislacerator. One of the best they'd been saying. Had a real knack for it. Almost supernatural.

She'd have been able to watch his back, pitied him enough to keep him from getting culled, and help him hide his blood.

He's such a stupid fucker. It's the biggest mistake he's ever fucking made. It's killed his best friend. It's ruined his life completely.

Before he can really sink into a festering mess of self hate his stomach protests against eating any more and Karkat leaves the rest of the food on the counter to retreat to the what he suspects is the human hive's relaxationblock. He slouches down on the rather blocky seating arrangement next to a human husktop. It's still on, glowing faintly as a screen saver swirls absently across the screen. Karkat watches it for lack of anything better to do.

He glances toward the stairs, then turns in his seat, drawing his legs up to make himself comfortable. He reaches out and taps the spacebar and watches it glow to life. The same chat application is open to the side. The desktop is a strange display of terrible art—though at least it's not Zahhak terrible. More like Pyrope terrible.

"My friend made that for me. It's the four of us. Me and my friends, I mean." The voice, followed by the synthesized translation from Karkat's commchelator, just about makes him jump out of his skin. Karkat whips his head around to stare at the human who gives him a faint, goofy smile. He has a towel draped half over his head as if he were in the middle of drying his hair still. When he leans over Karkat's shoulder to point at the screen, he smells like the cleaning slime Karkat used earlier. "That's me," he says indicating a terribly drawn figure with dorky glasses and bad hair. "And that's Jade, and Rose, and Dave. He's the one who drew it."

"You should tell him to stop trying," Karkat grumbles, knowing it will be lost on the idiot and not quite able to summon up his usual ire. The human finally moves back and steps around to flop onto the seating arrangement beyond the husktop. Karkat regards him over the top of it with narrowed eyes. The human gives him the most hopeful look Karkat has ever seen. It makes him look like someone kicked Nitram's lusus, tried to drown it, and it still wants to love you forever. "What."

The human apparently takes that single, flat word as encouragement even if he can't understand what Karkat said. "So, uh, what are your friends like? I mean, I assume you have friends and all! I'm just really kind of curious, you know, and uhm...."

The commchelator is still having trouble translating some of the human's terms, but the gist of it comes through loud and clear. Karkat curls his lip in distaste, balls his hands into fists. In the end he humors him even if only for the off chance that, maybe, he won't be the only one here with the knowledge. He holds his arm out, the one with the commchelator on it, and growls a command at the device. The tiny green screen lights up with a little image, a movie, that plays through.

It's a recording of Sollux from when they were experimenting with different doses of mind honey. They'd been out in the fields near Aradia's hive, far away from doing damage to anyone. This dose had been small enough and he just acted like Gamzee hopped up after a sopor pie, but with more manic energy. Sollux had made an utter idiot out of himself and Karkat had made sure to record it all.

It was probably the best blackmail material he'd ever gotten on that fuckass and like hell was he ever letting it go.

The human gives a funny, strangled little sound that drops into laughter. "Oh wow. It's kind of hard to see, but is he drunk?" He looks up at Karkat, obviously seeking a response and Karkat shrugs and waves his hand in an attempt to convey 'sort of'.

This language barrier is already starting to get on his fucking nerves. The little fizzle of irritation feels wonderful after how shitty he's been feeling.

"So, uh, where is he now? Did he come with you?"

And his mood sinks again. Like a stone thrown into a pit of mouth breathing grubs, swallowed up by the great beast at the bottom, and sucked down into it's stomach to wither away in the vile fucker's acid sac and eventually rest in it's colon before being shat and and turned into manure. Karkat makes a single, jerky motion across his neck and a swift, awkward silence descends between the two of them with the barely there sound of a breathed _oh_.

The human plays with his fingers, then worries the corner of his towel between them. His dorky teeth press into his lower lip, indenting it. He watches his fingers with downcast eyes and Karkat turns his head away.

"Sorry, to hear that." The words are barely there, soft in the air. Just like before in the hygieneblock. Oddly, they make Karkat feel a little better. Someone else has acknowledged Sollux' loss even if that someone can't really understand it completely. After another, lengthy pause that grates on Karkat's nerves until it's almost enough to make him _scream_ , the human clears his throat. "Uh, I've been wondering but...what's you're name...?"

Karkat has some serious doubts the moron could pronounce it right, but he supposes it only makes sense if their going to cohabitate on some level. Karkat has no idea what to do in this alien world, so he sort of needs the dumbfuck as much as it galls him to admit it. He looks back at him, meets his gaze over the top of the alien husktop and pronounces the syllables slowly.

"Karkat."

Predictably, the human fails. "Karrrket?"

Too much of a gargle on the R, not a hard enough chirp on the -at. It's so badly said that it surprises a gruff snort out of him, and he has to frown harder to make up for it. The human is giving him a sly look he doesn't like. The next few tries are even worse and Karkat's pretty sure he's doing it on purpose. Eventually he reaches over and smacks him upside the head, teeth bared. If body language is the only goddamned way they can communicate then so be it.

They keep at it until the human can make a passable imitation Karkat's name, and Karkat nods in grudging approve. The grin he gets is so fucking bright he might just end up as blind as Pyrope as a result.

"Okay, cool! My name's John!"

Karkat is going to show the idiot how it's done. He's going to conquer this hideous alien tongue. He ends up saying it a little more like, "Jawn." Which makes him sound wretchedly like Ampora. He's tempted to go vomit again, but manages to quell the need. John laughs at him and says it again, lips forming the words slowly. Karkat leans over the husktop, attention sharp and focused on how he says it, how he forms the words. Karkat mouths it slowly to try and work his mouth around it. His tongue stumbles, it's awkward.

But, he does it eventually. And that small triumph is something after all of this failure.

The name feels strangely nostalgic on his lips and he has no idea why.

They settle in silence again, and it's weirdly comfortable. Companionable. It's fucking weird and Karkat kind of hates it. He studies the alien features of this human. The pale skin caught in the slightly too bright glow of the hive's lighting, the eyes behind his glasses—blue, bright blue. Karkat wonders if John's older than he is since Karkat isn't quite old enough to start developing the tint to his eyes he will one day have. It's something he's thankful for. Or maybe his biology is different? It isn't really something Karkat's considered before, but what the fuck does he know about these weirdos? He's half tempted to reach over and poke at him the way the asshole was doing to him last night, but he doesn't. He'd probably just end up inviting the idiot to be more touchy.

He's startled out of his staring when John stretches and yawns. "I should probably start getting ready for bed." A sudden, startled look passes over John's face and he shoots Karkat a look. "Oh man, I just realized. _Gross_. You don't have a toothbrush do you? You didn't brush your teeth after.... Oh man, I am being such a bad host!" John jumps up, and Karkat finds himself hauled off again. Another whirlwind of idiot dragging him along and right back to that godforsaken hygieneblock. He's starting to hate the place. Karkat stands there like a gormless shitbrick while John rummages around. "I know we have extras in here somewhere. Hold on."

Eventually John finds what he's after and holds it up with a triumphant sound. Karkat stares at the little brush—he saw a couple over by the wash basin earlier—in a sealed package. John rips the backing off, pulls it out, and hands it to him. Karkat slowly slides his gaze over to John and gives him a blank stare.

This is what humans use to clean their teeth? It's not like the devices trolls have. Or at least, it's mildly like one part of the set, but troll teeth require more than one variety of teeth cleansing device. It's a whole fucking apparatus, and brushes are only barely helpful. They tend to get caught on the edges and don't do much fucking else. John stares back at him and waves at the wash basin as if he's presenting it.

Karkat continues to stare.

"Dude, don't tell me you guys don't brush your teeth."

Before Karkat can protest—uselessly—John snatches the little brush from him and puts some fruity smelling goo on it, turns on the water and gives him a considering look. Karkat narrows his eyes in response to how shifty he's looking. Before he even has a chance to fight, John has him in a headlock and is shoving the brush between his lips. Karkat flails, jerking and bucking madly to get away from the hold but the human is surprisingly strong. John just tightens his grip, gives a sharp bark of laughter, and scrubs at Karkat's teeth. Karkat's mouth practically explodes with the taste of fruity asshole combined with that chalk shit Pyrope tried to shove down his protein shoot one time.

Karkat gives an irate screech that comes out more like a gargle and attempts to claw through the moron's side. He can't quite get the angle right though. Then he manages to get his teeth around the brush in his mouth and chomps down. Hard. The thing sheers under the pressure and he's pretty sure he nearly bites it in half. Karkat's not completely sure though, because he uses his grasp to yank it out of John's hand, spits it aside, and tackles the miserable shitscarfing asswaffle into the floor and tries to strangle him.

"That is fucking it!" he yells, voice bouncing around the room. He can't really get his hands around John's neck because the fuckface won't just give up and die. He's got his hands between Karkat and his target, and is laughing like some demented chucklebeast. "I've put up with you poking me with those blunt little grubnubs you call fingers. I've put up with you covering me in your confectionery slime. I've put up with your disgusting human," and fuck is that a hard word to wrap his tongue around, it makes John laugh harder, "food. I am fucking sick of putting up with your shit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't carve you open like a 12th Perigree's Eve cluckbeast dinner, scatter your entrails around your hive like decorations, and don your corpse to take over your pathetic life!"

John's keeps laughing until he's practically howling. John's glasses sit across his forehead at an awkward angle and his hands cover his face. Karkat squeezes his arms and uses them to smack his head against the floor a few times. It doesn't help. In fact he only seems to laugh even fucking hard. He's laughing so hard Karkat is half afraid he's going to vomit and then drown in it.

He gives up his attempt to beat the shit out of him after a few more smacks against the floor out of sheer disgust. Karkat gives him a nice kick in the hip which makes John give a choked yelp and stalks off, heading for the respiteblock.

He barely notices that the traces of his melancholy have been chased away by the pleasant fizzle of his temper.

* * *

By the time John pulls himself together and off the floor, Karkat is long gone. He's pretty sure there's going to be a bruise on his hip, and his head kind of hurts a lot but it was totally worth it. He'd look so sad, a kicked alien puppy sitting on John's couch, but when he'd exploded in almighty fury.... And the toothpaste foam all over his mouth. It had been like looking into the face of a rabid Yorkie.

Terrifying, kind of adorable, and oddly hilarious.

John manages to get through brushing his own teeth with a minimum of laughing fits, though the grin never leaves his face. He finds the destroyed toothbrush in a corner and tosses it into the trash. As he heads back out he can see Karkat through the open door to his room. He's messing about with the computer again. John's a bit worried he's going to turn it into some sort of alien super device. He's not sure if that would be really awesome or really bad.

Eh, might as well let him have his fun. John heads downstairs to shut off the lights and grab his laptop. When he does it jostles awake again. There's a pesterchum window open and waiting for him, already full of red text.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] \--

TG: egbert  
TG: egbert  
TG: egbert  
TG: it says youre away but i know youre there somewhere  
TG: hey egbert  
TG: egderp  
TG: derpbert  
TG: once upon a time there was a dorky kid in the wild suburbs of washington  
TG: he ran off without his computer and left his best bro to die a lonely death  
TG: is this really the story you want them to tell about you am i going to have to find out about your untimely death via googling your obituary  
TG: ill print it off and everything hang it on my wall  
TG: every year on this day ill take it down and stare at it all melancholy and be like  
TG: yeah he was my best bro died tragically  
TG: saddest story you ever heard death by alien  
TG: oh no he wasnt killed by an alien son not really  
TG: except maybe he was  
TG: yeah ok he probably was it probably ate him  
TG: never found a body poor john derpbert  
TG: disappeared never seen again woe is us those that remain behind forever wondering  
TG: why john why did you do it   
TG: we loved you and your dorky glasses  
TG: hey can i have your movie collection  
TG: i can sell it on ebay or craigs list as the worst movie collection of all time  
TG: might actually get ten bucks for it   
GT: dave! Don't be silly my movies are worth so much more than that.  
GT: and wow that is a lot of text.   
TG: i knew if i kept typing the siren call of your im and my intense worry for your safety would bring you back to me  
TG: let me embrace you pet your hair and make sure youre safe from all harm   
GT: well I might have some bruises, but otherwise i'm fine!   
GT: so you don't have to worry anymore.   
TG: jesus what the fuck were you doing over there in alien cliché movie land   
GT: uh we had a food fight, and a toothpaste fight, and I taught him how to say my name.  
GT: it was really kind of awesome. except the food fight part!  
GT: he shoved my face in cake. bluh!!!!   
TG: egbert nothing can be as bad as my bros mlp thing  
TG: and certainly not your alien friendship montage  
TG: fucking pink plastic ponies all over the place sexing it up with smuppets  
TG: plush rump and cutie marks everywhere  
TG: christ he told me off the other day for making two of his ponies tell the other one they hated each other  
TG: wouldnt shut up about how friendship is magic  
TG: told him it was the ponies talking not me  
TG: and bro goes ponies shouldn't say mean things watch over the bad pony in the corner dave  
TG: im eighteen man and i still had to sit in the corner for two hours with the damn pony  
TG: i cant tell if hes being ironic or not  
TG: im kind of scared to tell the truth  
TG: can i come to washington until this shit blows over

As Dave's text scrolls across the screen John uses the chance to head up to his room. Karkat ignores him as he perches on the corner of his bed. Reading the text over John can't help but roll his eyes. It's become something of a familiar rant from Dave, hand in hand with the classic smuppet talk. The only thing that catches John's attention is....

GT: ...why were you playing with your bro's ponies, dave?   
TG: omg this is what you get out of this egbert  
TG: you are a traitor  
TG: thats it im going to live with jade on her crazy island shes my best bro now   
GT: aw, come on dave! it can't be that bad. bros don't break up with bros over ponies.   
TG: egbert he made a bro pony and a dave pony  
TG: mines a girl pony  
TG: hes such a bastard didnt even get his little bro a boy pony for his pony avatar  
TG: he even made a tiny lil cal   
TG: hes all kinds of crazy obsessed like an old lady with her cats  
TG: hes got a shrine bro  
TG: commissioned images  
TG: custom mixes  
TG: even made his own custom pony  
TG: all to his favorite  
TG: the almighty vinyl scratch  
TG: dj pon-3  
TG: it sits there mocking me  
TG: jesus i think i need to go cry on lalondes shoulder   
GT: do you really want to do that?  
GT: dave, the problem is you really love the ponies. embrace the ponies and you will be one with yourself.   
TG: oh god youre right forget I said anything  
TG: anyway I wanted to tell you that I finally sent out your ironically late birthday present   
GT: haha super ironically late?   
TG: supermassive ironically late  
TG: only the best for you bro  
TG: it should get there in a couple of days  
GT: i can't wait! is it a t-shirt? jade told me you guys were going in together to get me one each. I already got jade's and rose's.  
TG: what if im too cool to do a coordinated birthday gift  
TG: and jades flaps her mouth like a soccer mom on the fourth of july when her little tykes won his first match to the tune of the national anthem  
TG: speaking of  
TG: jade said she got to talk to your alien  
TG: pretend there are quotes around talk  
TG: because apparently he's an illiterate moron  
TG: you sure know how to pick them egbert   
GT: yeah, she mentioned that when we talked earlier.   
TG: let me talk to him   
GT: what? why? i don't think he can read english. he can't even speak it!  
GT: also he kind of picked me. sort of.   
TG: so I can troll him  
TG: introduce him to earth internet the proper way  
TG: you know rick roll goatse hentai homoporn 2 girls 1 cup  
TG: all the classics itll be beautiful make sure you record it with your webcam   
GT: uh, dave, I don't really want that on my computer!   
TG: who knows maybe hell like some of it  
TG: maybe aliens like chicks with boobs the size of beach balls and tentacles in every orifice   
TG: im almost certain lalonde sent me those  
TG: or the preteen looking boys with the tentacles  
TG: you know how it is once youve seen one tentacle youve seen them all  
TG: whoops just sent him a link  
TG: . . .  
TG: egbert  
TG: oh jesus you are such a fucking idiot  
TG: guess i get your pranksters gambit for the day

ghostyTrickster is now an idle chum!

TG: wonder how long itll take before you realize i cant link him since youre logged on over here  
TG: whatever have fun with your alien bro  
TG: bro wants a late night strife session so i better go  
TG: dave strider 45 john egbert 23 bro strider every fucking number in forever  
TG: fml

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] \--

GT: you're such a dick, dave.  
GT: i tackled him off the computer chair.  
GT: and now he's trying to beat me to death with my pillow!  
GT: this is all your fautasdasllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

* * *

The the next couple of days pass in what John likes to think of as a Learning Experience, complete with The More You Know rainbows and sound effects. Learning to live with an alien roommate is definitely an experience after all. They didn't get to cross paths too much, what with Karkat sleeping all day and John needing to sleep at night. During those few hours of overlap though, life was pretty awesome. Even if Karkat spent half the time moping—John was pretty sure that was what he was doing—until John managed to irritate him enough that he was more focused on screaming alien obscenities at him. So far no one had called the cops on them! John suspected this was a triumph, a great success, even.

Today he is on his way home after working late because Tyson had caught the stomach bug that has been going around. John really hopes he doesn't catch it. What if he takes it home with him and infects his alien and everything goes all War of the World's and he just crumbles up and dies?

John is brought out of his thoughts of decontamination chambers and HAZMAT suits by the sight of an innocuous white, blue, and red box leaning against the post of his mailbox. He coasts his bike to a stop next to it and grins.

He's even too excited over the arrival of the package to worry about how bad it is of the mailman to leave it laying out there! Who knows who could have stolen it. But no one has, and John scoops the package up, grabs the rest of the mail from the mailbox, and captchalogues the whole stash. He walks his bike around the house, and heads in through the back door like always. When he reaches the living room he finds Karkat sprawled out on the sofa, long alien legs going everywhere and nubby alien toes pointing toward the ceiling. He's flipping disconsolately through the TV channels, one of John's worn and faded T-shirts on, and a pair of sweatpants. He looks so hilariously out of place, and yet it seems normal. John's momentarily struck by the surreality of the situation.

Then Karkat gives him a _look_ , and John grins. John drops the package on the sofa, and flips through the rest of the mail while Karkat ignores him. There isn't much there, a couple of bills and an envelope with a crazy green symbol on it and the letters S.O.E.P. Heh. Soap. His dad's been getting these things for years. John's pretty sure it's some sort of subscription to a crazy high end shaving cream and bath items club.

John heads back the way he came, and goes to his dad's study. He drops the mail on the corner of the desk with the rest of the week's, then fetches a box cutter from one of the drawers. Back in the living room Karkat is studying a brightly colored cartoon with his lip curled. John sits on the floor, back to the TV, and pulls his package down with him. He sets it neatly on the floor before his crossed legs, the tape on the top shiny against the dull white of the packaging. John places his hand atop the box, slides the blade out of the box cutter and sets it to the tap. It slides back smooth, but catches at a rough spot. Before John knows what is happening it jerks back and catches his hand.

He yelps, reels back, and drops the box cutter. There are bright red spatters across the top of the white box, on the pale cream carpet. John inspects his hand. The cut isn't terribly deep, but it's at the base of his pointer finger where the knuckle is and it's bleeding pretty good.

A strange sound comes from above him. It's a sound like a wounded animal, only maybe not quite so terrified. There's something visceral in that sound, something that draws John's gaze up just in time to see Karkat slide off the couch and onto his knees. The expression on Karkat's face is strangely desolate. It's all desperate breathlessness and fragile wonder.

Karkat reaches out, and John is enraptured by the look on his face. He's caught, unable to draw his eyes away even as he feels the ticklish liquid slide of his own blood over the tips of his fingers. He tries to swallow and can't. Karkat's eyes are locked on his hands, on that blood, and for a single wild moment John wonders if it's some weird alien bloodlust or something, but then Karkat's fingers wrap around his wrist. The touch is shockingly gentle, and when Karkat pulls lightly John lets his arm stretch away from himself.

He still can't look away from those wide, bright eyes and the striking destruction of that expression. Karkat dips his fingers across the blood on John's hands, smearing it across the pale expanse of John's palm in a bright red swath. He looks up slowly and meets John's eyes. John's breath escapes him, leaves him unable to breath, and he drowns on nothing but air.

In a split second John realizes what he sees in that expression. It's hope. It's the banishment of a certain sort of loneliness.

It's the most awe inspiring thing John has probably ever, ever seen in his short eighteen years of life, and it leaves his head throbbing and spinning. "Karkat," he croaks, and his hand automatically curls with Karkat's fingers press against the cut. Karkat continues to stare at him. It's the kind of stare where you know you're really being seen for the first time. It's a dissecting, calculating, learning stare, but that softness remains. John feels like he's made an impression on someone so deep and lasting that it could cross universes. In some ways he feels like he already has, as if he's on the starlight lit razor edge of remembering something, but he just can't.

Karkat curls their hands together, blood smearing against each of their skin red ink on gray and pale peach. John lets him, still at a loss for words. There's a low churning in his gut, something like an echo in his head, and Karkat's still staring at him. John's breath hitches under that intensity. John can't understand what's happened, he has no way to. Karkat has never seemed more completely alien to him, and it's so strange with his palm warm against John's own, and his fingers pressing against his wrist while gently cupping the side of his hand. For a moment the world is lost. There is nothing but the lightning fast strike of some weird understanding that John can't quite parse, and maybe something a little deeper.

It's the forging of a bond, and when he tightens his hand around Karkat's in return—even though it tugs at the edges of his cut and hurts—it's like it settles into place. There's something important between them now, something that they can not break.

John silently vows to honor it, whatever it is.

"Karkat, I..." He swallows, works his throat, and forces the tightness away. "I need to, uhm. Bandage my hand?" That sounds reasonable. John's pretty sure that's the logical course of action. Karkat makes a low, animal sound. He looks back down at their blood smeared hands, then back up at John and let's him go. It seems almost reluctant for reasons John can't quite imagine. John can see that surly scowl melt back into place by increments until he's almost back to normal.

But, John can see something there now that Karkat can no longer hide. Or maybe it's something new, something that's changed. Whatever it is, John can't help but think that he's glad to see it there.

John retreats upstairs to the bathroom as quickly as he can, hand cradled against his chest. When he sees himself in the mirror he's still wide eyed, and looking a little shell shocked for reasons he can't quite name.

John runs his hand under the tap and watches the cold water clean the smeared blood off his hand. A million splintered thoughts swirl through his brain and seem to join the water in going down the drain. But the water is cool on his skin, and it almost seems to be bringing him back to life, drawing him back to normalcy. It refreshes him, washes away the hot, stinging weirdness and replaces it with normal everyday John Egbert. He mourns it a bit, like he was on the edge of an epiphany and has completely forgotten what it was. He's just walked into a room and can't remember why he got up and walked in there in the first place.

He dabs the area around his cut dry, and John's pretty sure seeing his blood is going to invoke weird memories forever now. A band-aid is rescued from the medicine cabinet, along with a little tube of Neosporin. He applies both, and heads to his room to change into something a little comfier. By the time John get's back downstairs he feels almost average again.

Then he sees Karkat sitting on the floor, and before any chance of awkwardness has a chance to creep up on him it's pounced right out of his mind. Because Karkat's pulled the bubble wrap Dave apparently swaddled his gift in out of the box and is bursting the tiny little air pockets with a look of vicious, scowly glee. It occurs to John that he's never seen him smile in all the time Karkat's been here, and he wonders if it'd look as weird as he thinks it would.

John can't stop the grin that forms almost immediately on his face. He wanders over and sits on the floor again, ignored by Karkat who's too immersed in his effort to kill each and every bubble on the sheet. Just as John expected there's what looks like a shirt in the box, slightly off center from Karkat's meddling. It's pale blue with the breezy image John dreamed of a long time ago and has been fond of ever since.

A bright little bubble of happiness lights somewhere low and warm in John's chest as he pulls it out, and finds it a little weightier than he expect. He unravels the shirt only to find it's actually a hoodie, the material thick, warm, and resilient beneath his fingertips. Inside of it, all bundled up, is a set of cases. One's a CD case, a custom made cover that has the name Green Jorave emblazoned on it, the rest are a stack of all of the Twilight movies. There's a yellow post it note attached to the top, red sharpie writing on it:

you like terrible movies right bro  
thought these were right up your alley  
saw them are the pawn shop down the street  
couldnt pass it up  
dont cry too hard because edward doesnt love you even though youre right there in washington

dave

John rolls his eyes, but his grin is wider than ever. Karkat, apparently bored with the bubble wrap since it is no longer protesting it's death, reaches over and pries the DVDs from John's grasp. John lets him and leaves him to check them out. He makes his way into the kitchen. The counters are covered in an array of dishes that need to be washed, and nonperishable food objects—most of which have been collected just yesterday in preparation for John's Big Plan.

The plan to introduce his alien guest to Earth culture the best way he knows how.

With movies.

John collects the snacks he's prepared to start the night of with—some more cupcakes scrounged up from the evil depths to which Dad has hidden them for John to find, and popcorn. Back in the living room John sets aside the snacks, far out of Karkat's reach. Karkat eyes the cupcakes with the intense precision of a cat stalking a catnip mouse, and John steps between them and him. He shakes a finger under Karkat's sloped alien nose.

"Come on and help me get set up. We're going to do this the _right_ way." Of course, he doesn't have to know that John's going to score a few bars on his prankster's gambit while the two of you are at it. Karkat drags his eyes away from the vicinity of John's bellybutton and up to his face. His expression is twisted, the corners of his mouth sharply down turned and his brows furrowed in incredulity. John points at the sofa. "To watch these properly, we have to make a fort."

Karkat's expression ticks downward further, and he says something in a growling little rumble that ends in _John_. He still says it a little weird, with a strange, growling accent. John just smiles encouragingly and steps around him to the sofa.

"Oh, come on, Karkat! It's really simple."

John starts by pulling the cushions off the couch and handing one to Karkat who merely stares at him, the soft squishy square gripped in his hands. John expects he think's he's gone mad. The sheet John wedged behind the couch earlier that day is pulled from it's place. He hooks two corners on the back of the couch and drapes it down, and hooks it around one corner of his cushion. John stands the cushion up, getting it to stay in place via the tension in the sheet. He's done this a few times with his dad over the years. They have it down to an art form.

Karkat's still standing there like a particularly strange statue, so John takes that cushion and repeats the process. The result isn't very fort-like, but it works. John gets the snacks, puts them in front of the entrance, then grabs the top case off the stack of Twilight movies. Might as well start with Dave's present!

It takes them a bit to get settled, most of which involves John coaxing Karkat under the cover of the blanket with a cupcake. Karkat continuing to try and grab it, and eventually just giving in. They sprawl on their stomachs, side by side, with their shins pressed against the couch and the cushions sagging in toward them as if they could fall in at any time. John hogs the popcorn as Karkat slowly picks apart the cupcakes.

They're both staring at the TV screen with singled minded focus as the aqua colored scenes reel by.

By the time Edward is revealing himself to be a glorified disco ball John's lost interest. He doesn't mind romance, but there's no explosions! No reuniting! No tension! The car stopping thing was kind of okay, but that wasn't really enough. He glances over at Karkat to find him sitting there with his cheek resting on his palm and a half eaten cupcake dangling from between his lips. He looks a hilarious mixture of entranced and disturbed, with his brows furrowed and his lips curled. John's almost certain his cupcake is destined for the carpet.

He's right. It hits a second later, when Karkat starts talking. He gesticulates a lot, and John knows from experience that he pretty much talks with his whole body. He can't help but wonder if this is normal Karkat behavior or if he's doing it because John can't understand him Karkat kicks his foot and glares at him, so John figures he's supposed to pretend to be attentive even if he can't understand a word he's saying. John gives him a toothy grin just because he knows it annoys Karkat.

In retribution—or maybe Karkat really does like them—John's forced to sit through the rest of the Twilight Saga.

By the end the cupcakes are gone, and the popcorn is down to crispy blackened pieces and hulls. John's stomach is clenching and growling in want of real food. Or, well, something more filling that popcorn and soda. He gets up and makes his way for the kitchen, Karkat trailing after him. John roots through the fridge contemplatively. It took them a few days, but Karkat was able to deal with solids now, at least in small enough quantities. It had been a relief that it wasn't human food that made him sick. John was still baffled over the fact that he could apparently scarf anything that was more sugar than solid without the slightest ill effect.

Well, if you didn't count the fact that he acted like he was a drug addicted and it was his last shot about it sometimes. John hopes that the novelty will wear off a bit eventually or he's going to have to deal with being hip deep in baked goods when he has to go buy more. Bluuuuuh.

John dumps a half a bag of frozen pizza rolls on a paper plate and only then realizes that there really isn't enough room on one. He a couple more plates and splits them up between them as evenly as possible. What follows is a marathon of microwaving while Karkat mysteriously roots another pan of cupcakes and a plate of cookies out of a cupboard.

Shortly they return to the movifort and John pops in the next choice. He's saving the best ones for later of course. This time it's the first Harry Potter movie. Everything goes well, and Karkat actually seems interested in it between slicing through pizza rolls and chocolate chip cookies. John's enjoying himself, being a fan of the movies. Dave always says their too mainstream to even like ironically. John's almost certain Dave just really prefers the books, but won't admit it.

Then they get to the scene where Professor Quirrell runs in yelling about the troll in the dungeon. John doesn't notice it at first, but Karkat has gone oddly still at his side. His focus on the movie intensifies one hundred fold. John's almost more interested in watching his reaction than the film he's seen a dozen times.

And, boy, what a reaction it is. John can hear the music change, the low grunts of the troll and the thud of heavy footsteps reverberating through the sound system, and Karkat _explodes_. Well, metaphorically at least. He jerks up so fast his horns catch on the sheet ceiling over their heads, pushing it up and dragging the cushion walls in ponderously close. John's quite nearly smacked in the face as Karkat performs an impressive rageflail and sets off in series of irate, alien gibberish that leaves John wide eyed and staring.

Karkat's making gesture's in the direction of the TV that, quite frankly, leave John feeling a little worried.

"Karkat," he says in an effort to draw his attention. John's voice is lost under the intense cacophony of Karkat's vitriol. It honestly makes John fear for the life of his John does the only thing he can think to do. He beams him in the head with the nearest pizza roll.

In an instant Karkat lunges for him and the two of them go down in a magnificent pile of limbs, sheet, and cushion. John does his best to fend off Karkat's hands which grip his cheeks as if Karkat intends to rip them off even as John tries to keep them from rolling into the food things. Karkat shoves his face in John's and gibbers at him in that rough-ragged alien voice of his.

Eventually, John laughingly manages to shove him off enough to catch his breath. "Okay," he says over the sounds of the movie still playing in the background. "No Harry Potter. Ever."

John has no idea what set him off, but apparently Harry Potter is a big _NO_. With all the inherent capslock of rage and italics and everything.

John diligently sets their movifort back up while Karkat sulks and rages quietly to himself. Of course, Karkat's version of quiet is something akin to a jumbo jet flying over your roof, but hey. Afterward, John pops the disc out and tucks it away and searches through his stack of movies for something that will, hopefully, not offend him.

They end up sitting through both National Treasure's without a hitch, and it's pretty glorious! Karkat actually seems interested, though perhaps more in the romantic subplot than the coolness of Nic Cage, but John gives it a pass.

From there they move on to the Ocean's trilology, halfway through which John gets up and returns with a bowl full of Chex Mix. By the end of Ocean's 12, Karkat's commandeered the bowl and is matching Brad Pitt in the eating category.

After Ocean's 13 John's gone through sleepy and into wide awake again. His eyes itch, and he should probably sleep, but he can't. He just puts in the next movie and settles back down on the floor beside Karkat. His stomach cramps hungrily and he searches his surroundings for more snackage.

Littered around them he finds paper plates covered in gunky pizza roll explosion residue, half full glasses of choice apple juice beverage, a bowl with the crunchy blackened remnants of popcorn, two former cupcake platters, and half the remains of a plate of cookies. The only other thing left is the bowl of Chex Mix which is wrapped in the Karkat's arms and tucked covetously under his chin. Every time John reaches for it, he gets a growly grumbled warning and a snap of sharkish teeth.

By the end of Toy Story 3 John's got tears sliding down his cheeks. He gets it, he totally gets Andy. Growing up is hard, and nobody understands, and leaving behind your childhood is rough. And being toys, being forgotten, and wanting to keep your childhood. John _understands_. He manfully covers a sniffle, and glances at his alien Co-movithoner. Even the alien has tears in his eyes. Shiny, translucent red streaks sliding down his cheeks like food dye in a glass of water. John reaches over and pats his shoulder in a show of bro-filled commiseration. Toy Story 3 is so sad that no one can watch it without tears. Not even space aliens.

They end the night, quite literally, with Con Air. John's sitting up with the lower half of his face pressed into the pillow he's clutching. Karkat's beside him on his back, head craned back at an uncomfortable looking angle. It makes his hair fall away from his wide, staring eyes to pool on the floor.

As the credits roll, casting pale and dark light over the two of them, John breathes out. He breathes in the mixed smell of their snack conquests, and the feeling of a good movie marathon well fought. For a moment it is as if the world has stopped turning, time has ceased, and they are left alone in a quiet void to contemplate what they have just seen. Then Karkat makes a low sound, and John grins a wobbly, tired grin. Together they stagger up, out of the battlefield of deceased snack foods and toward the staircase.

Instead of heading for his room, John tugs Karkat out onto the balcony. Karkat shrinks back at first, but the follows. He stands beside John at the railing overlooking the suburban sprawl and blinks owlishly into the pale gray world around them. John breathes in the fresh scent of the air, and breathes it out again feel rejuvenated and all the more tired because of it. The creeping tendrils of watery sunlight poking above the horizon tell him it's time to call it a night and sleep for a little while.

Beside him, Karkat grips the railing in his strange gray hands until it creeks, eyes squinting, and for a moment John thinks he can see a bit of red in his eyes. Karkat's face is twisted into a strange expression as he stares skyward. Then John reaches over and casually pats Karkat's shoulder, and they stand there a moment until the sun slides too high, and John can see a bit of translucent red beading at the corner of Karkat's eyes.

They retreat back to John's room, and for once they both sleep away most of the day.

* * *

When Karkat slinks out of John's respiteblock the next evening he winds up with a godfucked _bucket_ draped over his head, caught on one horn, nubby though it is, and tepid water dripping down his head and shoulders.

It's official. His life has just become some sort of fucked up, perverted romcom.

Karkat can hear badly stifled laughter from somewhere nearby. He's going to track the fuckshit down and strangle him to death as soon as he can bring himself to remove this thing from his head. The door's knob creaks slightly from the force of his grip.

Fuck. Humans. Anyway.

Goddamned heathens.

Karkat side eyes John, hard, for the rest of the evening.


End file.
